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Tortured Heart
Posted: 10 Apr 2007 10:47 AM |
A black clad halfling sat at an out of the way table in the Broken Mask tavern staring at the bubbles that rose lazily in his mug of ale. The bard in the corner plucked at the strings of his lyre as if wooing a familiar lover. A beautiful young halfling girl sat at the bar whispering to Margaret and glancing at the guyver when she thought he wasn’t looking. Johe held his eyes on the girl and waited, it wouldn’t be long. Sure enough she turned her head towards him again with a smile, her blond hair like an ocean wave. As their eyes met, her smile turned to a blushing titter as she turned quickly back to Margaret and their whispers continued in earnest.
The guyver looked out the window at his new prison, Port Royal. With Hezekiah’s Breath playing the part of the guards, and Jessup the only cell mate who could or would protect him.
He glanced at the pretty halfling girl once more as the bard began to sing.
Won’t you be my number two
Me and number one are through
There won't be too much to do
Just smile when I feel blue
The guyver frowned at his ale. Did the assassin tell the truth about her? The daggers in his chest ripping the stuffing out of his heart seemed to think so. He sighed. Wouldn’t it have been grand to freeze time two years ago when they were happy, getting ready to get married, thinking about having twenty little bobbins with guyver tools running around the guyver store. He smiled sadly, and looked up at the blond girl again.
And there's not much left of me
What you get is what you see
Is it worth the energy
I leave it up to you
And if you got something to say to me
Don't try to play your funny games on me
I know that it's really not fair of me
But my heart's seen too much action
Temptation pulled at him to go over and talk to her. She seemed so happy, so devoid of any issues of mind OR spirit. Wouldn’t it just be easier to take his lumps and start over again? After all Cora had made it very clear, no matter what he did, she would never love him…except for that one moment… He sighed. That was all he’d had from her over the past few months though, miniature moments of hope, how far could those go?!
And every time I look at you
You'll be who I want you to
And I’ll do what I can do
To make a dream or two come true
If you’ll be my
If you be my number two
He rose with a low growl, flipping a few gold coins on the table, and a few more into the bards overturned hat. He had to chuckle at himself on his way to the door. It looked like he may have learned the next thing he needed to know about love. The lessons came slower now without his old mentor in his mind, but they came nevertheless. There are times one loves to be in love, and, possibly more times one hates it, but the long and the short of it is and always will be. When you truly are, it’s forever.
At the door he turned to look at her one last time. She smiled at him wanly. He winked and walked out into his prison with a smile.
((Credits: Joe Jackson )) |
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Of Greener grass and Made beds
Posted: 13 Apr 2007 04:16 PM |
The guyver left P&J's finding it difficult to hide a coy smile. He remembered when the store had been a dark, dank hole with a snake as it's mascot, but now... He shook his head with bemused disbelief. Jessup had certainly done well for himself, all dressed up in what must have been a specially tailored tuxedo considering the big lugs' size, two Kenku guards, and, what looked like a silent butler stationed near the fireplace. He couldn't help but feel a tad envious. He was, after all, in a similar field, and yet the difference between their lifestyles was as huge as the difference between the buildings in which they lived. He shrugged as he kicked a stone down the alley and watched it ricochet off a barrel sending a rat skittering for cover. He must have done SOMETHING different, but just what escaped him.
Either way, it had been a very fruitful meeting. The search was on for the ONE member of Hezekiah's Breath who had left the group, and lived to tell about it. The guyver was most interested in what tales such a man could tell. The information could be invaluable in removing Hezekiah's Breath from down his neck. He smirked. More importantly, however, Jessup had eased the guyvers mind, and opened it. With all the cloak and dagger happenings going on around him, Johe hadn't thought to just simply go visit Oswin, and ask him for his assistance. He smiled at this. It was, after all, true that not everyone needed to be spied on to divulge information, and not everyone was an enemy. Of course the fact that the very shadow under his feet was a spy sent to listen in on his plans made it hard to remember that sometimes, but it was true anyway. Saying that Jessup had sent him would certainly open some doors.
Of course, even more important was the reaffirmation of their conversation, that Jessup supported Johe freeing Cora. He didn't even bat an eye when the guyver had spoken of "taking" her. This meant a lot to the little hin, and he felt another wave of respect for the oft misunderstood, and yet still quite dangerous half orc.
He found himself wondering what was happening with the relationship between the Guyvers and the Black Hand. So long ago, when he had opened the guyver store, he had had the feeling that many people considered him a little upstart who was bucking the system. He remembered well when he and Jessup had first bumped heads. He shook his head with a wry smile. Fat Sam had certainly had that beating coming to him, and that was most likely what had saved the young guyver from certain death and had earned him a few broken ribs instead. Learning underworld politics, and taking his "punishment" instead of fighting, or running had earned him a lot of respect from the big half orc however. Much to the chagrin of folks like Fat Sam, and others who had been waiting, watching, and hoping for the Black Hand to squash the young group of guyvers like a bug. He unlocked the door to the Guyver Store and stepped in quickly, locking it as soon as he had it shut. He looked around the dark store expecting to see a mocking pair or two of glowing ember eyes, but none were there.
"Mus' be time fer black coffee break or shift change." he smirked.
Through the years after their shaky start, the Guyvers, and the Black Hand had coexisted in Port Royal peacefully. Working together on many occasions. In many ways the Guyvers and the Black Hand worked so closely together at times, that some might almost think the Guyvers were just an extension of the Hand. They would be wrong. Jessup had always been a businessman, running the Hand with precision of purpose, and minimal emotion. And THERE, Johe supposed as he looked around the darkened store, was the real difference. The guyvers had always run on passion for the cause. Win for the "gooders" no matter what it takes, had been his motto from the start. The Hand on the other....well... hand was about business. Jessup rarely took anything personally, and every course of action he decided on was based on what would be good for the business. It was just to Johes' advantage that he could use that knowledge to persuade Jessup into doing things to help the "gooders". It had certainly saved sir Markus and miss Emma from a painful death for their actions in the sewers earlier that week. He chuckled to himself. That was the difference. He nodded slowly chewing on his cheek thoughtfully. The guyver way would burn out any expendable resource to attain the oft unreachable goal, and the darkened store stared him in the face as proof. He sat down at the dusty table and pulled a pathetic looking sandwich out of his pack taking a halfhearted bite. His eyes glazed over as memories of the things the guyvers had achieved warmed his cold thoughts. He supposed if he had it all to do over again he would have tried harder to be there for Cora, maybe even taken her with him when he had had to leave. But other than that, he brushed a cloud of dust from the table with a swipe of his small hand and placed the sandwich on the clean spot. Yes other than that...
He wouldn't change a thing. |
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Sunbathing for Privacy
Posted: 19 Apr 2007 05:18 PM |
The halfling girl handed the Ox driver her ten gold pieces and fixed her long hair with an awkward hand and uncomfortable titter. The burly dwarf nodded at the gold as he placed it in a large sack around his waist. He held out a rough hand to help, then, looking up with surprise glimmering under his bushy eyebrows, he noticed she was already seated. Her legs were spreadeagled in a most unladylike way. The Dwarf raised an eyebrow at something that looked like a short sword attached to her inner thigh. The girl flashed him a warning glare as she pulled her knees together and smoothed her dress with a sigh, blushing profusely. The journey was uneventful, except that the little lady seemed to look around with great interest as they passed through the Buckshire Trading Post. The Dwarf shrugged to himself with a grunt. He had transported far too many "weirdo's" to and from the Port to really wonder or care just what this ladies' deal was. Her gold was just as shiny as anyone else's, and after all he DID have all those children to feed, and of course that secret stash of grog in the barn to keep stocked.
The wagon rattled to a halt as the dwarf grunted,
"There ye be lassy,"
He turned to look into the empty cart, then looked around with a frown and another shrug as he saw the girl already walking like a duck past the guards, and out of town, tugging at something that was obviously uncomfortably stuck in her rear.
The little halfling girl walked down the Buckshire trail, avoiding the big cats with the stealth of a professional adventurer. Then past the Buckshire ruins pausing only to pull a dagger from her blouse, and throw it expertly at an attacking Stirge, sticking it to a tree like a feathered wanted poster.
Into the desert heat, the young lady forged on, scratching at her hair with such vigor that a trained observer would have noticed her entire scalp move, and may have commented how much smaller her forehead looked than it had when she had left the Port. Heading into the flat lands of the Kobai the long hair came completely off, drenched with sweat and makeup revealing wild black hair that glistened in the sun. The sweat ran in droplets cleaning off the makeup on the face and revealing red scars that almost seemed to throb in the scorching heat.
The guyver looked up at the sun that was fast reaching the top of the sky, then around the landscape to make sure he was alone. Nodding to himself, he took off the dress and wiped the sweat from his face and chest with it before laying it on the sand. Taking a deep breath he laid down on it with his legs tightly together and his hands at his sides. As the sun reached high noon he raised his head and looked around himself, wriggling himself into the sand. He checked and double checked, nodding to himself finally when he was satisfied. He laid his head down on the scorching sand, wincing slightly as he pushed his head into the relenting stuff.
" 'ope this bluddy werks." he muttered.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
" 'Ello mum, 's me agen Johe." the guyver spoke quickly ," Look I ain' got much time, I'm fixin' ta save my Cora frum tha shadows, an' I reckon yer fren' an' mine mista Menarok is fixin' ta steel me frum ya. I ain' gonna let it 'appin, but I'm gonna need yer 'elp. ya always 'elped mista Gasher, an' I'm askin' ya ta 'elp me now. 'S gotta be agenst tha rules ta try an' steel yer kids frum ya ain' it?" He sighed a look of exhasperation on his face.
"Well anyways, maybe ya culd jus' keep a eye out fer me?"
The half naked guyver nodded to himself grimly as he stood and dusted the sand from himself. A tinge of sunburn red already evident on his skin. He set off back towards the Buckshire draping the dress over his head and back. A dry chuckle escaped his throat. It was certainly going to be interesting sneaking back into Port Royal like this. |
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Traps and Triggers
Posted: 21 Apr 2007 05:28 PM |
He looked at the schematic he had drawn, then back to the electric trap, his brow furrowed in frustrated thought. With so many quartz energy cells, this thing could cause damage of epic proportions. He leaned back against the shingles with a grunt and glared at the trap. Ever since he had lifted it from Pickston so long ago it had been a nemesis. He had never been quite able to figure it out, and now with Frobozz messing with mister X, he had an opportunity to see one actually set up. It had been a humbling, yet awe inspiring experience. Now he sat on the roof of the Guyver Store, his only sanctuary from the shadows, and studied the trap with squinting eyes. It was in his best interests to help mister X free his spell books from the trap set by Frobozz. He nodded slightly to himself as he thought. The fellow was certainly very powerful and would be a very helpful, if slightly crazy, ally. What was going on with all the mages and sorcerers of Vives anyway? He had heard some folks asking mister X if he WAS Frobozz. He shook his head with pursed lips, he had let it slide, he really DIDN'T want to know. Then there was Lucifer and his "bush pet", Bereil, and his ridiculous behavior at Oswind's place. Then there was Oswind and his bloody mushrooms and oozes. Even good old mister Salt seemed a bit soft. A dragon familiar with HIS own face? Some of his experiments bordered on the insane! He rolled his eyes and scratched at his ear as his thoughts rolled on their typical tangent track. The fact was that these spindly, harmless looking ,doddering ,old men had access to the most powerful forces on Vives. Was it possible that somehow the "meenies" were doing something to these most powerful people on Vives in an attempt to make them useless when they attacked? Or worse yet, pull them onto THEIR side? He cleared his throat with a frown. There was a convocilation or some such thing for all the folks of Vives that wielded magic, and ,as he was a dabbler, he had received an invite. He nodded to himself. He would have to go and investigate. Either way though, he didn't mind helping mister X, he was a nice enough sort, but...
He found himself wishing it hadn't been Alton who had found him and asked him to help. What WAS his problem with Alton? He looked up at the clouds marching across the sky as his mind looked back to a different time, when he and Alton had been inseparable friends, and fighters for justice. Alton had helped him deal with his dissappointment at not being able to be more than a friend to Macha... and then... Claudia walked into their lives. He looked down at his hands almost looking ashamed. The truth was, neither of them had handled that situation very well. Johe had met Claudia first, and in his own shy, and quiet way,( as he was a very young halfling at the time, not very versed in matters of the heart), he had become eternally smitten by her. When Alton had seen her, he had immediately started his brash flirtations, which were, admittedly, part of his rather brash, yet endearing personality. Johe had gone to his friend to ask him to lay off of Claudia, but of course, by then, it was too late. His mind splashed over the history like a river running the rapids. She had found out what had happened... he never even thought twice when he had a chance with her ... and then... He bit his lip, pain shimmering in the tears in his eyes... He killed her.* All of that had affected his relationship with his friend. But there was more to it than that wasn't there...He stretched with a low growl and laid back on the shingles of the roof looking up at the sky with a piercing glare... Alton always seemed to have a knack for being there when Johe failed. When he failed at guyvering, Alton was there. When he failed at life, Alton was there. When he failed at love, Alton was there. And, as would have to be the case, Alton had been there when he had failed as a friend. That was why he could barely bring himself to look him in the eye when he had come to ask for help with mister X's problem. It wasn't the coarseness of his actions, or the thoughtlessness of his tone that mimicked the very voice in his head that berated him for a fool now that Rafferty was gone. He hated being around Alton because he was ashamed. Ashamed of a past that should have been different if he had ever truly cared for the fellow as the friend he had fought and bled to be. He sighed picking up the schematic and stuffing it into his belt. Alton deserved a good kick in the rear for some of the thoughtless things he had done, but he had never deserved to be shunned as he had been shunning him. He bent over and put the electric trap carefully into the satchel it had been stored in for so long. Besides, if he was ever going to stand a chance saving Cora from the shadows, he probably needed a little cleric from the Brandibuck in his corner. He climbed through the skylight into the darkened store. If Menarok had heard his prayer to Gashers mom, it was bound to be a short fight. He shook his head and tried to shove the thought out of his mind like he was pushing a fat drunk out of a bar.
Some possibilities were simply too dangerous to even think about. Besides, he shrugged, he was a guyver, he'd figure something out along the way as he always did.
He reached up from the top of the chest of drawers he was standing on and shut the skylight, his black eyes glinting with determination in the dark.
(( * Page 2 of this thread Guyvy fans)) |
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Four Seasons in one Day Pt I
Posted: 27 Apr 2007 04:53 PM |
Four seasons in one day
Lying in the depths of your imagination
Worlds above and worlds below
The sun shines on the black clouds hanging over the domain
Even when you're feeling warm
The temperature could drop away
Like four seasons in one day
He sat on the couch across from her staring, trying to read her expressionless face. The light of the morning sun was just a smudge on the skylight above, and, as usual, the fire did little to light the room or remove the Winter chill. Her pale features hid what emotions, if any, might be slinking around behind those oddly glowing eyes. He had tried his utmost to leave the Atalan problem to the "gooders". He did, after all, have enough on his plate that was of greater importance to him. He sighed as he looked at her waiting for him to speak, the slightest hint of anticipation in the way she leaned forward on the couch she was sitting on. Unfortunately it seemed the "gooders" thought it was more important to prepare for war while the people who were to most likely be their arrow fodder were starving to death, instead of looking for the one thing that, if it even existed, could end the war quickly and decisively. Their piss poor handling of the situation, made it dangerously obvious that there may be no Cora to fight for, if he didn't start trying to handle it himself. And he would. But not the way he used to. He had already had a short, pointless talk with Markus, about allying with EVERYONE who had a vested interest in surviving the Atalan war. War? was that even the correct term? The fact was everyone seemed to still be in shock from the attacks to the point of panic. It was as if they wanted to dig a big bunker in the dirt and hide from reality. Unfortunately the way things were going now it seemed the hole had only enough room for their heads, which seemed to fit comfortably. He smirked. As usual, the bloody rules were more important than actual, and very critical survival. The "gooders" wanted to win to be sure, but they couldn't abide the thought of needing, and joining forces with "morally lesser beings" so that they might even stand a chance. That, (after much thought, and soul searching on his part), was where Kalid here came in. Her moral shortcomings, would be an advantage in the plan he had in mind.She would have no qualms doing what he had tried, and failed to do with the assassin, and more...
" A lil while ago," he began calmly, " I 'eard wun uf tha Atalan's told a group uf 'venturers that there wus wun thing the Atalan wanted more 'n anything in tha werld."
The pale elven woman listened nodding, her eyes aglow with interest.
" Yer job is gonna be ta fin' out jus' wut that wun thing is." he looked at her matter of factly.
She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him, but didn't flinch.
"I think you overestimate the fact that I am mistaken for an Atalan by the people of Vives," she said with cold calm," They have their own language, and their own ways, there's no way I could successfully infiltrate their ranks."
"Well," the guyver shrugged, " there's utha ways ta git their trust." he gave her a sly smile as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together slowly.
"I'm listening." she said allowing herself to relax with cat like grace into the comfortable, if musty smelling, cushions of the couch.
"I'm sure you unnerstan' this mission needs ta be taken on with extreme prejudice. Tha success uf this mission meens we ALL win an' git ta live. Tha's why we're talkin'." The halfling took a deep breath frowning slightly as if battling over the words that stood impatiently in line on his tongue. Rafferty had said that the ends justify the means, that to win against evil was the paramount function of a knight. Would HE agree with this course of action? The hin had to admit his gut response was a resounding no, and yet... Johe could see no other way to gain an edge on this most overpowering force of evil that was coming from their world below. He had been assured by Balthor so many years ago that the Atalan would stay in their dark places if they were left alone, that they had no interest in living in the world above. That meant that there very well COULD be a certain something they were after in this conflict. Knowing what it was could save so many lives, wasn't it worth a relatively smaller cost? He cleared his throat and pushed his inner battle aside like a petulant child sweeping his losing chess pieces to the floor with an angry arm. He looked into those eerily glowing eyes and spoke in a deadly calm.
" I'm sure it'd be very b'lievable ta them that you don' 'ave much love fer us sun dwellers, that maybe you mite evin wanna see 'em win so you culd 'ave revenge fer tha way sum uf us 'ave treated ya."
She nodded slowly.
"Tha only trick'd be ta git their trust," he continued leaning forward slightly, " fer that ya mite 'aveta pick out a gooder wut ain werth much anyway, an' give 'im or 'er ta them."
She flashed him a wicked grin. He nodded slowly with a small smile. There was no way she could resist a mission like this. Part of him had known it the moment he had met her. She would be the underbelly of his plans. She would be the secret Guyver.
Smiling as the sh*t comes down
You can tell a man from what he has to say
Everything gets turned around
And I will risk my neck again, again
A small ,shadow hidden hand pushed the door open with a creak. Three skeletal warriors turned toward the sound, their bones sounding like a pile of children's' building blocks falling to the floor. Grasping rusty swords they rushed through the door and were turned into a shower of bone fragments with one sweep of Ophelia's great sword. The guyver stepped from the shadows with a grin, picking shards of bone from his wild ,black hair.
"Bluddy 'ells miss Ophelia!" was all he could say.
She shrugged with a sheepish grin. He looked up at her shaking his head, the grin spreading to his eyes. Ophelia was an integral part of the rebirth of the guyvers. The dormant times were past. Spring had returned to the guyvers in the form of a large, amazingly strong orclun girl who protected the hin as if he were a duke. It was hard to keep in mind that she was a young girl when he watched her fight, but the reality came through when he talked to her. Many aspects of life confused her, caused her great discomfort, and even hurt her. It was a strange relationship to be sure, but Johe had realized something on the way to the crypt. When she had said she hated the desert because of all the bad things that had happened to her there, Johe had jokingly responded that he would protect her, and she had seemed to truly take comfort from that. At that moment he had vowed to himself that he would make sure she was taken care of no matter what kind of death his future endeavors would most likely bestow on him.
" Is that new?" Ophelia poked his chest with a frown.
"Yeah, miss Emma give it ta me." Johe looked down at the armor he was wearing, the smile returning to his face. It had been a pleasant surprise to receive something so helpful to him from such a surprising source. Even more surprising had been that her boyfriend Markus had suggested it apparently, even after the talk he had had with the knight about allying all alignments against the Atalan threat instead of the "gooders" taking it on alone. An idea that had gone over like a wet fart in a packed cathedral. He squinted in thought. It was kind of telling really. Maybe it was a begrudging admission from them that he DID do good, and maybe they even appreciated it despite the all too glaring fact that they disagreed with his tactics.
A noise from down the dark corridor pulled him from his thoughts. Ophelia gripped her sword squinting into the blackness then to Johe. Johe winked at her reassuringly nodding his head toward the noise as he stepped into the shadows.
(to be continued) |
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Four Seasons in one Day Pt II
Posted: 29 Apr 2007 08:55 PM |
You can take me where you will
Up the creek and through the mill
All the things you can't explain
Four seasons in one day
Blood dries up
Like rain, like rain
Fills my cup
Like four seasons in one day
" Thar she be lads an' lassies!" the dwarven ox cart driver announced as he always did at this point of the journey," Tha gem of tha Aquinas coast, an' 'ome uf that great philanthropist Sir Jessup the Younger! Port Royal!"
They looked at each other with the same coy smile that seemed to wonder if the litany was paid for by PAJWT in association with Mano De Negro Productions.
"Well... we made it." said Ophelia with a "you should be more careful" look leveled at the guyver.
Johe grinned at her with a wink. The sound of Pitter Patter's metal footsteps near the Buckshire had made the trip a bit more interesting, but eventhough Hezekiah's Breath was down his back like a hot Summer wind, his guyver luck was holding... for now. The heat was certainly on. It was going to be a wild game of Red Rover getting to Oswin's hut to take that trip to Ollie's place. Slide had finally found the name of the fellow who had left Hezekiah's Breath, and lived to tell the tale. Oswin had agreed to get him and Ophelia there in exchange for their services harvesting some rare mushrooms he needed for one of his most likely insane experiments. Perhaps he could learn something from the renegade ex assassin that might get him out of this predicament. He certainly hoped so. Other important plans were boiling over on the back burner as he was running around the kitchen just trying to stay alive, and he was quickly running out of time on one of them.
Lord Tagreth was fading fast according to the latest report he had received from one of his secret Fire Knife informants in the Port. It seemed obvious to him that Hezekiah's Breath was behind what had happened to the old man. Perhaps Ollie would have some insight into that problem as well. A less frustrating than normal "chance meeting" with Lucifer, the ex preacher man, had opened his eyes to the importance of being SURE it was poison that had taken out Lord Tag, or something else. He supposed he should undertake a very quick in and out mission to the old headquarters near Midor and see if he could find Lord Tag's personal stash of wine, and other treats he tended to like, and take it to mister Salt to be tested. While he was there he could also see if there were any tools to help with mister X's little trap problem. He nodded with a smile. That would recruit the crazy caster to maybe use his magic to pop the guyver right in front of the door and zap him directly back so he wouldn't have to deal with those bloody reds.
The wagon creaked to a halt in the trade square. They climbed out slowly stretching their legs and nodding their thanks to the bushy faced dwarf.
"I need to go get something to eat and take a nap." Ophelia said with a petulant quality to her voice. Johe smiled slightly. She did tend to get a little cranky when she was hungry.
"Go ahed miss Ophelia, ya know where ta fin' me if'n ya needs me."
She waved and walked toward the palace. The guyver watched her leave, his smile fading slowly. Being a guyver meant taking a lot of gambles. Calculated gambles, but gambles just the same. He found himself hoping that she wouldn't be around when he crapped out of the dice game he was getting the guyvers tied up in.
It doesn't pay to make predictions
Sleeping on an unmade bed
Finding out wherever there is comfort there is pain
Only one step away
Like four seasons in one day
He put the quill back in the ink well with a sigh. Rafferty had always frowned on his writings. The voice of his old mentor grumbled in his memory.
"You are a Guyver young man, there's no time for poetry and songs about Autumn leaves! If you were a bard I could have left you with the minstrels, but YOU said nooooo! and so I took you with me to learn the ways of the knight, and here you are scribbling flowery words on parchment instead of cleaning your weapons, or practicing your parries!"
A nostalgic smile stretched the scars on his face. It had been hard for him to deal with the fact that the knighthood would never, COULD never accept a hin in their ranks. It had taken righteous determination from the old man to even get him in as a squire. And that was where the idea of the "Guyver Knight" had been born. In the mind of an old paladin to placate a young halfling who just wanted to feel like he had a purpose in a cause that distrusted him, and didn't want him around. He supposed the old knight may have considered it a slap in the face when he caught Johe writing his secret songs after he had spent so much effort training him as a guyver knight. Or maybe it was that he worried over the little hin not being good enough at his weapon skills to withstand the onslaught of those bigger than him when the paladin would, someday, not be around to protect him from himself.
The guyver leaned back in his chair and looked back on his day. Had he done enough to get things accomplished? Well no, he supposed as his own worst taskmaster, he would never be able to answer that question in the affirmative. The only thing he knew for sure, was that everything he did, everything he aspired to, every plan of action, no matter how dangerous or ill concieved, was for her. He had everything he needed for his final stand against the Shadow. The ropes of light, the globes of continual light water, and the sequencer cloak, loaded with the spells he needed to buy the time.
He looked back to the parchment on his desk. Now it was just a matter of getting everything that would lead to the battle taken care of and squared away. There were so many irons in the fire, with his heart the coal, and, of course, she was the flame. But he felt as if there where more ashes than embers these days, which meant he was running out of time. He figured they both were.
He looked down at his hands, one thought echoing in his mind... so much blood ...
He sighed aiming an apologetic look at the sky. He reached for the quill and wrote just a little more...
Blood dries up
Like rain, like rain
Fills my cup
Like four seasons in one day
(( Credits: Crowded House )) |
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Underground
Posted: 09 May 2007 04:25 PM |
(( This one kinda creeped me out when I wrote it. If you have a vivid imagination and claustrophobia like I do proceed with caution))
He stretched forward and breathed out to make himself as small as possible. Digging his fingers into the cold, dank earth, he pulled himself forward another inch and breathed...
Think...he had to think about something or he would certainly go mad. The feeling of claustrophobia gripped his heart again making his limbs spasm with the urge to flail about. With a whimper he squeezed his eyes shut and sent his mind somewhere..."anywhere but 'ere"... like a dart thrown over the shoulder...
... Oswin's hut...yes that would do... It had been so hard not to laugh when the mage had growled with jealous fury at mister Salt as his pet Gelatinous Cube slimed the poor old scholar from head to toe in what Oswin angrily saw as blatant flirtation. It had been a most educational visit with the mad mage. He had deciphered the parchment found on the assassin. The information on it had made it obvious that Hezekiah's Breath was out to completely destroy the Fire Knives, cementing them as the ones who had poisoned Lord Tagreth, and, possibly, explaining why they were so adamant to end the life of the guyver as well. It seemed his secret was out. Very few people knew that he was a member of the Fire Knives as well as heading up his own group of guyvers in the Port, which would shorten the list of people who may have hired the assassins to do this job in the first place. The upcoming rare mushroom harvesting expedition that would double as a chance to visit with Ollie the ex Hezekiah's Breath assassin, would hopefully fill in the pieces missing from the puzzle, and possibly even speed the search for a cure for Lord Tagreth. And maybe...just maybe, mister Ollie could come up with a magic bolt to get all those assassins off his arse as well. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking up at the faint smudge of light that seemed impossibly far up the shaft...He squinted with a frown...Was it blinking?
He stretched forward and breathed out to make himself as small as possible. Digging his fingers into the cold, dank earth, he pulled himself forward another inch and breathed...
The sound of the undead fiends gurgled up the shaft into his ears, spurring him on. He could make it if he used the tenacity he was known for, but that same tenacity threatened to stoke the flames of his claustrophobia, to send him into a writhing panic that would certainly do him in if he didn't keep his mind occupied with other things as he climbed. He closed his eyes again...
Guyver luck was a strange thing. It had a habit of making you pay from time to time, making it seem almost neutral in the end. After their meeting with Oswin, he had told them to stand in the pentagram on the floor of his hut so that he might cast a teleportation spell on them and send them home. Johe always enjoyed being a passenger on the wings of the spell. The whooshing sounds, the feeling of acceleration even though the fantastic star bursts of color seemed to be traveling faster, but his favorite was the feeling of weightlessness just before appearing,(hopefully), at his destination. He loved to let his limbs go limp and watch them float about. Invariably it caused him to stumble or fall when the sensation stopped abruptly leading to minor embarrassment upon arrival. They stepped into the pentagram and watched as the dark robed mage traced arcane symbols in the air with his hands and performed the complicated semantics of the spell. There was a pop, a fizz, and they were off! The guyver gave a woop of excitement as the light show began. Moments later the elderly scholar, and the small guyver appeared in a white stone room. Johe stumbled a moment a large grin on his scarred face. He reached for mister Salt's robe to steady himself and looked up at their surroundings. Confusion evicted the smile on his face. The confusion was soon kicked out by abject horror. He had seen this place before, a long long time ago, when he had gone on a mission to see just what, if any, threat this little church held. He had been unconvinced at first, but not anymore. Not after the inhabitants of the place had taken Southern Vives in it's iron fisted grasp. "Yes" reality insisted. They were, in fact, in the Temple of Midoran.
The guyvers mouth took a curse and drop jawed shock and combining them, coming out with...
"Faaaaaaaaaaak"
Mister Salt looked up squinting, "Wuh? Eh? What? This isn't Buckshire."
"Shhhh", the guyver hissed, "we're in bluddy Midor mista Salt. DO sumthin' git us tha faaaaak outta 'ere."
"Well," the old caster frowned, " I could try a spell, but I don't know if," he pointed a boney finger to the ceiling," would let it work..."
" I don' see us 'avin' much uf a choice mista Salt," Johe hissed again, his ears looking decidedly red at the tips, " did ya miss tha part where I sed we's in bluddy Midor? Cast sumthin' ANYTHIN' jus' git us outta 'ere, NOW."
The old mage nodded and set to tracing strange symbols in the air with his fingers and uttering arcane words and once again, with the whoosh drowning out the relieved sigh of a little guyver, they were off...
He stretched forward and breathed out to make himself as small as possible. Digging his fingers into the cold, dank earth, he pulled himself forward another inch and breathed...
The odd duo appeared in a dark subterranean hall. Torches of red flame hung on the walls in black, spiked iron sconces. The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air and assaulted the senses. The foreboding sound of ravenous undead moaning echoed from the black stone walls. Recognition twinkled in the guyver's eyes as he glared up at the old mage pursing his lips.
"Tha Nebwood Dungeons?!" he hissed angrily.
"Well..." Salt Sower shrugged apologetically, " It's not an exact science young lad, you see the conflagration of the energy waves can shift at any moment dependant on the..."
"C'n we finish this lata mista Salt?" the guyver tugged on the old mages sleeve with urgency, " we gots cumpany!"
Wretched, and hungry the undead came.
Ridiculously outnumbered the two made their way towards the stairs as undead fiends closed in with hungry claws and snarling fangs. Salt threw up his arms and shouted in the arcane tongue, walls of roaring flame sprang from the flagstones to cover their escape. Johe ducked into the shadows and moved up the stairs to scout the terrain ahead glancing back briefly at the flaming ghouls that stumbled through the fire and fell to the floor in a heap of burning flesh. He crept up the stairs his heart racing. Rounding the last corner at the top of the stairs he let out a little gasp. Was this a trap? Did they know he and mister Salt were coming? The place was FULL of undead soldiers, and demonic looking monsters with fire in their eyes. He reached a hand back to stop mister Salt from advancing. The fire walls would only last so long, he had to come up with a plan, and fast. He stepped from the shadows and gave mister Salt an earnest look.
"Mista Salt," he whispered, " We's in deep shite 'ere... tha exit is thattaway," He pointed with a black gloved hand that trembled slightly, "I'm gonna sneek thattaway," he pointed the opposite direction, " an' draw 'em off then use tha shadows ta folla ya afta ya gits away okie dokie?"
The elderly Salt thought for a moment then nodded slowly. Johe nodded, patting the old man on the arm before fading into darkness. He was halfway up the stairs when the first arrow whizzed over his head. He looked up into the smouldering eyes of an undead fiend wearing a wizards robe.
"Bugga's," he muttered as he ran up the stairs as fast as he could, "RUN!!!"
Then all hells broke loose.
Ducking and dodging, tumbling and rolling, he made his way to the place he had origionally intended to go. Glancing up through rotting legs and warped spear shafts he saw mister Salt make it to the exit. He turned around with grim determination. There was only one way out as he had predicted on his way here. he had to make the jump over the stairway. He ducked his head and propelled himself forward with all the power his legs culd muster. Pushing off with a grunt he sailed to the other side with inches to spare. The undead fiends, yeowled in anger as they made their way towards him. He shot them a cocky smirk and turned towards the exit where another score of undead now stood mocking his suprise with dropped jaws and the occassional hanging eye. He looked back at the deadly mob behind him.
"Awlrite guyver...guyver this," he muttered.
He looked to the wall nearest him and shrugged. It would be a tight fit, but that air shaft was all he had. He dove in...
...and here he was.
He stretched forward and breathed out to make himself as small as possible. Digging his fingers into the cold, dank earth, he pulled himself forward another inch and breathed...
Unable to turn around in the tight confines of the shaft, he simply frowned as the hungry grunts and gurgles of the undead in the passageway behind him suddenly ceased. He stopped his slow ascent up the forty five degree incline and listened. The only sound he could discern from behind him was the steady approach of one pair of heavy boots. A feeling of foreboding trickled into his chest like persistent rainwater through a poorly made roof. What were the "deders" up to now? The footsteps seemed to stop at the entrance to his precarious, and very vulnerable escape rout. He waited in silence the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end with anticipation. First he felt it, then, as it vibrated up his legs and into his stomach he began to hear it. A low, throbbing hum slithered up the shaft, through his body, and into his brain numbing his senses. He raised a concerned eyebrow, and continued his progress upwards with a new, steady urgency. When the voice screamed up towards him, it was like a current of electricity that jerked his muscles. He banged his head into the tunnel wall, eyes wide with shock...
I have always been here
I have always looked out from behind these eyes
it feels like more than a lifetime
feels like more than a lifetime
He breathed heavily, feeling the panic build as his ribcage pushed against the wall of the tube in vain to get more air into his gasping lungs. A strangled cry escaped his throat as his hands scrabbled uselessly against the ground trying to get him away from the horrifying sound...
Sometimes I get tired of the waiting
sometimes I get tired of being in here
is this the way it has always been?
could it ever have been different?
Pin pricks of light danced in his eyes, as his head swam in dizzying seas of panic. He had to...had to...HAD to calm down... He squeezed his eyes shut a hoarse whisper from his throat pleading, "mum...plees..."
...He had been sitting in the bedroom by the fire talking to Kalid about her mission when a familiar voice whispered in his ear from the shadows.
"She's just using you." the sultry whisper floated into his ear on a fragrant breeze scented with orchids.
Moments later a confused Kalid found herself outside the guyver store while an equally confused guyver found himself inside the dark store looking at the girl he loved more than victory.
"Nice," she offered sarcastically, " I noticed she was hardly wearing any clothes when I got here... you found yourself a new bed-mate?" He sent her an angry glare. She knew better, but couldn't resist sliding the dagger in anyway. The pain of her words paled next to the pain her intent inflicted on the little guyver. He took a deep breath trying to stay calm.
"no luv, she's werkin' fer tha guyvers on a mission," he said, "ain' bin nowun in me bed since... an' wont be..."
"Sure," she interrupted snidely, "well, regardless of wether you are sleeping with her... you really think you can -trust- her? " She threw him a coy smile.
"no I don't, in fact I'm countin' on it." he retorted with a flicker of steel in his black eyes.
"Aaaah," she nodded with a glimmer of respect as a devious look crossed her face.
"Yeah," he nodded witha shrug, " gettin' screwed teeches a guyver a few things eventually. "
Well that ,of course, hadn't been his best move in an argument with the lady. It had gotten a lot worse before it became unexpectedly, and pleasantly, better. As bitter as she seemed to him, as hateful as she tried to portray herself, she had stayed for tea, and, for one brief moment, they had talked like they had when things were different. Until...
Do you ever get tired of the waiting?
do you ever get tired of being in there?
don't worry
nobody lives forever,
nobody lives forever
The last three words echoed through his body and into his head numbing his mind and blinding his memory. He gripped the dank earth as if it was the last shred of his very soul. Where was he...what had he been thinking...? That humming...That gods forsaken, incessant humming vibrating the ground... the whole shaft was going to collapse... and trap him in this nightmare forever... He began to hyperventilate again. He shook his head violently, trying to remember something, anything...
The humming stopped...
The silence almost hurt his ears. He lay motionless for a while attempting to collect the shattered remains of his mind.
He took a deep breath.
He stretched forward and breathed out to make himself as small as possible. Digging his fingers into the cold, dank earth, he pulled himself forward another inch and breathed...
There was an odd clicking sound in the tunnel behind him...he frowned... it was almost like a hundred small combs being rubbed together. He shook his head. He couldn't let himself think about what it might be, he had to keep moving. He closed his eyes and searched his mind for her...
And there she was...leaning on the kitchen table with that coy grin that always made his heart smile. For a moment during that conversation, he could almost believe that they had a ghost of a chance until the shadow appeared. That move on the part of the shadows may have been designed to make him give in to their power, but it had done the complete opposite. Looking at how she reacted to the shadow being there infused him with an anger that crushed his hopelessness and left only resolve. That resolve would see him through the inevitable battle with the shadow. He gritted his teeth and dug his bleeding fingers into the ground looking up at the light ahead. It would also get him out of here.
He stretched forward and breathed out to make himself as small as possible. Digging his fingers into the cold, dank earth, he pulled himself forward another inch and breathed...
The clicking sound behind him was growing louder, and his muscles were on fire with fatigue. looking up at the now larger light about six feet away, he realized the light HAD been blinking... every time one of the abysmal ghouls guarding it walked by. He sighed and hung his head with a whimper. He'd be dead meat before he even got himself halfway out of this bloody hole. He felt a painful nip on his ankle, then another and another. The clicking sound was almost deafening now. He felt a sensation of pins and needles on his back and instinctively pushed himself off the "floor" of the air shaft and grimaced at the crunching sound and the wetness that seeped into his armor. Another nip on his calf and another... Something crawled out from underneath his chest.
"Bluddy 'ells!!!" he was starting to panic again, and this time it would be impossible to stop. The tunnel was filled with scarab beetles, and they were hungry. He had to figure a way out NOW.
His mind reeling with panic he thought of mister Salt. Why had he chuckled when he had seen him with Oswin in the Buckshire ruins the day before? There had been...his mind raced...a practical joke he wanted to play on him in his office...He winced in pain as hundreds of beetle mandibles tore into his flesh...there was even a spell he had learned to play this joke...He kicked his legs trying to hold in the horrified scream that was building inside him... Suddenly it came to him, with a pained scream he waved one hand and uttered the incantation for the Gust of Wind spell. Ducking his head, he pointed down his back and yelped the trigger word.
"This is gonna 'ert," he said with a self deprecating smile that pushed the tears of pain out of his squinting eyes.
And it did.
A black clad halfling shot out of the ground followed by a cloud of scarab beetles. The ghouls guarding the hole looked up at the sky with confused grunts. When they looked back to the ground they saw the little man hobbling through the woods toward the Aquinas Coast. Beetles rained from the sky as they gave chase.
Except for the sound of falling beetles, the Nebwood seemed to return to it's quiet state. The buzzing of a grig's wings, the chirp of a cricket. From a hole in the ground that spat out a bleeding halfling guyver came the sound of a forlorne, hungry voice...
I will always be here
I will always look out from behind these eyes
It's only a lifetime
It's only a lifetime
It's only a lifetime...
((Credits: Pink Floyd )) |
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Guyvering for Marbles
Posted: 15 May 2007 04:48 PM |
The Guyver took off his helmet and peered around at his surroundings. Well... here it was, the lost city that mister X had told him about. Kalid had surprised him and come through with the information. The Atalan were after seven blue power nodes to add to their collection of seven red ones. Why the color difference? He raised a quizzical eyebrow as he squinted through the undergrowth. He would leave the question of prismatics to the experts. Finding the damnable things was the important thing. He drew one of his blades and chopped his way into the ruins. Of course finding them was going to be relatively easy when compared with the question that came next. What to do with the bloody things if he did. Mister X had told him that they were almost certainly going to be in the city somewhere which made Kalid's information invaluable though she didn't know it. He smiled slyly to himself. But mister X had also said the nodes were extremely dangerous, having a mind of their own, and reaching out to take over the will of anyone that came close to them, turning them into slaves. Mister X was apparently the only magic wielder able to handle the things without loosing his mind, and even he had done it with difficulty.
"So why tha 'ells're YOU 'ere?" he muttered to himself with a smirk.
That was a question even HE couldn't answer succinctly however. The plan was still forming in his mind. He went over the questions and possibilities as he searched. Why weren't the Atalan here if the nodes were? Was it possible that they truly didn't know the power nodes were here? Or was it more likely that the thought of coming to the city where their cursed existence began was such an uncomfortable prospect that they preferred to attack a whole world and get a dirty guyver to do their work for them rather than go there themselves. Was something or someone guarding the stones that they didn't dare cross for some reason perhaps? Maybe it was the very dragon that had cursed them to begin with? Either way the fact remained they weren't here...at least... (He looked over his shoulder with a shiver) ... at least not so far as he could tell.
As for what to do with the nodes should he find them? He supposed a recovery team would need to be assembled. Mister X would need to be a member of course, and anyone else who would help and could be trusted. He smiled as an idea slid into place in his mind. Mister Talion would be an interesting addition... what if they had him carry the stones? Would the "Dethesdes baby" he carried in his gut that had gained control of him be able to withstand the power of the nodes as THEY tried to gain access to his mind? Wouldn't the power of the nodes dispatch the thing inside him with little or no difficulty freeing him of the curse? Then, when Mister X took the stones from him he would be free and clear. Of course telling mister Talion anything of the plan would be foolish what with the thing inside him listening and all. He hummed thoughtfully the hint of a devilish smile in his eyes. It just might work. Granted it was a radical idea, but was there any other way when faced with a hopeless situation? he grinned and shrugged looking rather pleased with himself. That left just WHAT to do with the stones after they had them. He frowned at this. If the stones were as powerful as mister X claimed, there was no way the gooders would ever let the Atalan have them, even if it meant they would go back into their bloody holes and stay there forever. But that wasn't the only way to skin this particular cat. If what Balthor had told him held true, the Atalan didn't care to be topside. Wouldn't destroying the stones altogether take away any reason they had for being up on the surface at all? And wouldn't THEN be a good time for the mages to do their attack on the Halls of Bregodim. THEN they could be assured the Atalan wouldn't show up to help the dark dwarves, and the alliance would be crispy toast. He looked around and slumped to the ground with a sigh. That was of course IF he could find the bloody stones. He reached into his pack and pulled out a piece of dried beef chewing on it as he looked around. He had searched the whole area except for the hill to the east. He squinted as he looked at the hill again. was that a stone door under the moss? He stood and wandered towards it.
Searching the entire area, he had found the ruins of everything one would expect to see in a city. Everything, except a place to put the dead. He reached out a black gloved hand and pulled at the moss. It fell away easily, revealing a large stone door with strange symbols etched into it. This had to be it. One thing most sentient beings said but never seemed to believe was, "You can't take it with you" , which was why he spent so much time taking those things from the "deaders" and putting them to far better use helping the living. If anything of value like the power nodes was anywhere around the city, it would be in there. He examined the doorway for an opening mechanism to no avail. He growled quietly in the back of his throat. He pulled more moss away revealing a huge stone wheel flush with the wall. There were four large holes in the stone that seemed to be for poles that would need to be pushed or pulled by four rather strong men before the thing would even budge.
"Buggers," he muttered tersely. There was no way a little halfling guyver was going to be getting in there today, not without help. Very large, beefy help. He smiled slightly. He had Ophelia, that was certainly a start. He knelt down to measure the size of the holes and scribbled the information on an old tattered piece of parchment. He stood and nodded looking around to get his bearings. Yes. The power nodes had to be here. Now with a little help, and a little luck, they might get the Atalan out of the picture so he could get back to saving his Cora.
"Now ta git back without gettin' breathed on," he smirked as he put the tattered piece of parchment into his belt. |
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The Blood we Bleed
Posted: 19 May 2007 04:13 PM |
He checked his blades, but hoped he wouldn't need them. He had enough acid tipped arrows for a small army hanging at his hips on both sides, and, if Gashers Mom kept him safe, he hoped to send each and every one of them into a black heart. He didn't like this, not one bit. He had hoped the mages would change their mind, and go with his plan. A plan that, granted, would take longer, and may be a wild goose chase altogether. But it was a plan that stood to save a lot of the lives of the close in fighters... like himself. He draped the black cloak over his back and fastened it under his scarred face, looking in the mirror with obsidian eyes. No he didn't like this idea at all. They hadn't told him exactly how they planned to keep Atalan reinforcements from coming, but it stood to reason it most likely involved a spell that could backfire, or be misspoken, instead of the very real, very powerful power nodes that could have been a life saving key to victory.
He looked at himself a moment in the mirror. He drew his ice blades, twirled them once, sheathed them, and drew his Ikthia blades and replaced them all in one fluid movement, and nodded to himself with a wry smile. He visualized his plan in his head. He would go in and do his best to guyver a way through any traps the bastards certainly would have set up. Then he would find a nice spot somewhere high up, and pick the buggers off with his bow. The Atalan, and dark dwarves had sight too good for his shadow play, hand to hand combat would be foolish. But with a little luck and a good spot...he grinned slyly...
The last time he had prepared for a battle like this he had had the snot beaten out of him, and it was quite likely that would happen again. The retreat from his trap disarming to the rear would be the tough part more than likely. The fact was however, the Atalan had to go, and as much as he had changed over the last year, a strange sense of honor forbade him to let them do it without him. This was for her. He had to be there.
He turned on his heel and walked away from the mirror past his desk where a blank piece of parchment and a freshly filled well of ink sat waiting expectantly. He looked at it a moment then walked away shaking his head. What would be the point in writing it anyway? Everyone knew who got what and why.
He opened the door to the apartment and walked out to spend what little was left on a gamble. |
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The washing of the water
Posted: 22 May 2007 05:44 PM |
"Oh thanks fer dimmin' tha lite's I gots a 'eadache sumthin' awful," he quipped sarcastically as he walked into the Guyver Store and dropped his empty quivers to the floor with a grunt. He walked to the apartment door and unlocked it with feeble hands. The door opened with it's familiar creak that reminded him he had promised Cora he would oil the hinges what was it ? a year and a half ago? He glared at Zigzig through the other doorway and caught him glaring back. The half orc sniffed and picked up a candle, pretending to look for something on the counter top. Johe harumphed and slammed the door locking it halfheartedly leaving the key in the door. He walked toward the bathroom shedding his blood stained armor onto the floor as he went.
"All you li'l shady bugga's outta tha tub!" he croaked in a tired, almost drunk voice, " 's tha guyvers tern!"
He looked into the bath tub and his eyebrows raised slightly. Orchid petals in creamy looking water. She had been home.
"Hmph," He half chuckled, seeming too tired to care. He reached into the water. It was cold. She was long gone. He shrugged to himself as he pulled the dagger from his ankle scabbard and muttered a simple incantation. The blade burst into flame. He stirred the water with it.
"Too bluddy tired ta git fresh wata," he mumbled, " 'sides, she's a gerl...they's awlways cleen." He nodded at this as if it was a great piece of wisdom that ought to be passed on to future generations, as he stepped into the tub and settled into the fragrant water with a pronounced, "AAAaaaaahhhhh."
Well... they did it. He sighed again closing his eyes. It hadn't been pretty, but a win was a win. Hells, when had anything a guyver had done been pretty? As he had always proudly said, the guyvers' job was to get down in the muck where the "gooders" wouldn't go. He smirked to himself, the warm water relaxing his muscles. Well he had certainly been there. He chuckled softly, remembering the first charge that had been decimated by whithering volleys of Atalan arrows. And, of course, he had broken his promise to himself and rushed in when it seemed that the fighters needed just a little more help. He shook his head smiling slightly. He could laugh at it now, but at the time sliding down the public toilet chute wasn't the most pleasant thing he had ever done to escape a bad situation. Of course it wasn't the worst either, he shivered slightly at the memory of the scarab beetles. It had surprised him that the chute emptied into the small creek that flowed from Elbereth's Tears. But it had been a great windfall. He had thought that the way to Gasher's Moms place was controlled by the reds, but it turned out it was not. Perhaps this was her subtle way of letting him know she was available if he needed her? Maybe. He nodded smiling. Then there was the run back to the Halls covered in pond scum and who knows what else. Getting there in time for the second wave.
"Oh yipee," he whispered mockingly twirling a finger in the air.
Blood, guts, and arrows. He rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand together wincing. Yes...he nodded...that had been a lot of arrows. But the Halls were open again, and his friend and brother Tolith had been avenged. He took a deep breath and relaxed a little more whispering,
"that wun wus fer you brutha."
Then there was the journey home. He chuckled softly sending ripples from his chest.
Standing at the small dock waiting to get on the boat that would take him to the Aegis, it suddenly started to get darker and darker. In his dazed state after the long battle he had thought maybe he was passing out and tried to focus himself on just getting to the ship first, THEN he could curl up in a coil of rope and rest. The dock hand who was untying the boat looked up first, and then, with a squealed, "f**k this s**t," dove into the water and started to swim toward the Aegis screaming through gurgles of salt water for the captain to set sail right away. He looked up slowly through droopy eyes that widened at the sight he saw. A horned behemoth of a red skinned man with two dragon like wings protruding from his back was sailing down toward him grinning with fangs the size of short swords. He had drawn his blades and stepped back wearily sighing,
"Not tha Breath...not now... bugger it!"
He slid into the shadows as the hulking beast landed and slinked behind it, looking for the Achilles tendon. The beast turned toward him,with sad eyes and down turned mouth looking very out of place on the huge ugly face.
"Now why wuld ya wanna go do that?" the rough voice asked sadly.
The guyver looked up at him, speechless. At this point, he wasn't really sure.
" Tha name's Ollie, I heard you was lookin' fer me?"
The guyver sat up in the bath tub chuckling at the memory. Meeting Ollie had certainly answered the question about HOW he had managed to keep Hezekiah's Breath from taking him down. Ollie's advice had been very helpful as well. He had made a deal not to reveal the head of Hezekiah's Breath, and was true to his word, but he did give a clue. Johe dunked his head under the water, coming up pushing the wet black hair away from his face and blowing the running water from the bridge of his nose across the tub. The large monster's words roaming around in his head like a shy man looking for a dance partner.
"Someone Lord Tagreth, and Sirac left behind. Someone who was a nobody and now is somebody. The poison is the key."
He reached for the towel on the floor and got out of the water drying himself with a frown. He felt like he ought to know who it was, like it was someone he knew, but... he was a nobody, it would probably take a little work to remember. He nodded to himself slowly frowning slightly as he headed toward the bedroom to take a long, well deserved rest.
He summoned Spanky, and set him on guard duty.
Tommorrow he would have to talk to Tagreth... if he even could talk anymore.
He hoped he could.
One thing was for certain. After the battle he had just been through, and the battle to come. It was clear he needed to get this solved, not just for Lord Tagreth anymore, but also for the equipment that Rivers was holding hostage that he sorely needed.
He laid his head on the pillow to rest and think on the clues a little more.
Sleep came faster than thought. |
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Two Houseguests
Posted: 25 May 2007 03:37 PM |
As Salt strutted gracelessly and gangly into Swiftfoot Glade, he found the guyver Johe Jaxon sitting on a log, waiting.
"Oi ole man," Johe said as Salt called out to him.
They had a short conversation in the time it took for Salt to close the distance between the two.
"What gives?" Salt asked. "Needed a quiet place to think?"
"Jus' come ta check on that cure, culdn' stay down there tho'..." the guyver said pointing to the entrance to Salt's home and demon mausoleum.
"Alright then," Salt said all business. "Two things."
Johe raised an eyebrow.
"First, I need Oswin's advice. All I've managed to do is cause some barnyard animals to lose all their fur, and then die unpleasantly. Rabbits died in a few hours. The goat took longer, but... " Salt shook his head. "Nothing I have tried so far has worked."
Johe frowned looking into a fire he'd built in the glade. "I'd appreciate you an' Oswin makin' it yer priority. I visited Lord Tag today, 'e's 'oldin' on but not doin' so well."
"I'm operating on the assumption that this poison is capable of producing its own antidote. Or I was. Can't chase after that solution any longer. It just isn't working out for me."
Or them rabbits, Johe thought. "They've agreed ta let you an' Owsin see Tag anytime ya likes."
"Tagreth is in Port?" Salt whispered to the guyver.
Johe shook his head. "No, an' although you c'n see 'im wneva yer redy I can't tell ya or anybuddy where 'e is. I'm sorrae."
Salt smiled and nodded his head. "Well I understand that, of course. I won't ask again. Not till I'm ready for a blindfolded wagon ride, eh?"
Second thing. "Johe, I had a visitor here to the glade."
The guyver nodded. "I 'eard."
"A mechanical visitor. Big one." The seer winked.
"I'm sorrae I drug you inta this." Johe looked up from where he sat. Salt looked like a scarecrow and was skinny as ever. How the man moved inside of his robes was itself a mystery. "I'm gettin close to a' answa to tha prolem, I'm werkin' it fast as I can..."
"Don't be sorry. Not for one second. Johe, we got the serial number. One ninety four. Were you told about that?"
"Until this is ova I wus wunnerin' if you'd min' 'avin' Ophelia stay with you so you c'n pertect eech utha..." Johe did a double-take. "...ya got it?! Oh boy!" He rubbed his hands together, eyes now gleaming in the firelight.
"Very nice... one ninety four, got it... Yes, that c'n git us a way ta shut tha bugga down!"
"Until then, Ophelia can stay here if you think that will make us each safer Johe. Though... once you know, Jessup's man told us that Port was the safest place."
Johe nodded. "Yeah, tha's true. Wuldya min' movin' all yer stuff there fer a while? I'm werried tha buggers is gonna try use you an' Phelia as 'ostages," he said in explanation.
"I'm not sure I'm willing to put myself in Jessup's custody, Johe. Its his city, isn't it?"
Johe flushed slightly. "Tha's tha unnofficial werd, yeah." He rubbed his chin. "Well lemme put it to ya this way. I'm safe in Port because uf Jessup, you an' Ophelia'll be safe because uf me. It's pritty dark but yer welcum at tha Guyver Store until this blows ovah."
Johe finished, "We're on tha case, tha big thing is ta keep you an' Ophelia safe, can't afford ta give 'em anythin' or anywun ta use agenst us at this point."
"I can live with that, Johe. Alright... I'll come to Port."
* * * * *
Ophelia also accepted this offer with grace, and after helping Salt to pack his things for travel they moved his laboratory and operation to Port Royale. Tristian and Talion were along for their own amusement, or perhaps to see that the two arrived in Port Royale safely.
They left behind more than Salt would have liked, but the poison sample was carefully packed in glass jars couched one inside of the other like nesting dolls. They also carried out more than enough glassware, spatulas, burners and beakers, mortars, grinders, and a small copper alembic, all for the task of concocting an antidote to Lord Tagreth's poison. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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The Breath we breathe
Posted: 29 May 2007 03:34 PM |
The door to the guyver store opened and closed quietly. A black clad halfling stepped from the shadows and slinked silently across the floor. Opening the door to the apartment, he glanced briefly at the half orc that stood behind the counter of a store that seemed to be running itself. He had tried locking the doors, but the shadows that infested the place kept opening them. He shook his head bleakly and stepped into the apartment closing the door. The place certainly looked different, what with the weird equipment, and glassware that lined the walls. He smiled as he tip toed to the bedroom door which was open and poked his head around the corner. There they were. He had to almost physically restrain himself from chuckling and waking them. The couch nearest him creaked for mercy as Ophelia stretched, sending her feet over one end, and her head with large thumb planted securely in the mouth, over the other. The other couch looked like it was eating the old man in the colorful nightshirt. Mister Salt was so skinny these days that he was sliding between the cushions and the backrest as he slept. He slowly closed the door and walked quietly to his desk. He wished he could have been there when they had brought the venerable seer's belongings in, but alas, a guyver never did keep regular hours. There were a lot of things he should have been around for, he frowned. Spending time in the shadowy corners and crevices of the Port trying to glean any information that might be spilled from loose lips, and save them from the assassin guild that was now after all three of them, kept him away from the newest guyver, and the newest old man who, wether he liked it or not, was tied in with the guyvers, and was, frankly, a very welcome addition to the ranks. He looked at the papers on the desk. One in particular caught his attention, obviously written by a very young hand that was trying it's utmost to look neat...
Mr. Johe
I hope you didn't go to Tockticken yet. Because someone left a box outside of Port with your name on it. I was worried about a trap and tried to pick it up but it wouldn't move. There was a large crowd around the box and after a lot of talking Fennigan opened it. A whole bunch of energy balls came out hurting Fennigan real bad and some gnome standing by. There was a magic scroll inside but I doubt it means anything. I think it was a trap but just wanted you to know.
Ophelia.
The first thought that crossed his mind was, Well I reckon that serves ya rite fer openin' anutha man's mail! He grinned at the thought, but it was squashed by the frown that followed. Things were getting out of hand with Hezekiah's Breath. He had met with Lord Tagreth and shared the clues that Ollie had given, but as of yet the old man had not come up with any names. It seemed the poison hadn't just affected his body, but had aged his mind as well.
The poison is the key
He had to figure this out and quick. It was obvious that Hezekiah's Breath had the resources to regrow any body he might be able to destroy. Like the one he had heard was amassing at the Buckshire Cliffs. No. The only way to get these bastards off of his, and the Fire Knive's tail was to go after the elusive head of this beast. But who?
The poison is the key
Was it the key because it was arcane in nature? Was he or she a wielder of magic? Or was it the key because it was poison? Was he or she one who didn't have the physical attributes to take on an enemy, and therefore tended to use poisons instead of knives or swords? OR, even... Was the imagined slight against this person, that caused them to want to destroy an entire organization, poisonous in nature? He sighed and put the letter back on the table, he was reaching now, and he knew it. He had tried not to think about it, let his mind wander in the hopes that it would find what was more than likely already there, but it had been hopeless trying to let it slip out of his mind. He stood and checked on the two sleepers. He looked at the bed. A part of him yearned to go lay in it, just for a moment, but he knew better. The only time he could sleep without her was when he was so tired he would pass out from fatigue. Those moments just before sleep, if he wasn't tired enough, would torture him and roll him out of the bed to check the shadows of the Port just one more time to see if he had missed any clue, any yet to be spoken word, and... he had to admit... any sign of the girl he was doing this all for in the first place.
He took a deep breath, and shaking his head slowly he went back to the desk and reached for a fresh piece of parchment with a black gloved hand. Dipping the quill into the ink well he began to write...
Phelia
It's the Breath for sure.
Tell everybody except those useless guards to keep their mits off me mail.
You folks feel free to use the bed while yer here.
I'll be in to check on ya.
Take care of mister Salt.
JJ
He took the parchment into the bedroom and placed it gently on Ophelia's chest. Shivering a bit at the chill he turned and stoked the fire before walking to the door and looking back at the two new people he felt responsible for. That was, after all what had made him a guyver to begin with wasn't it? He smiled and nodded as he stepped into the shadows and headed into the night to listen to the city sleep. |
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Sparrowsong
Posted: 05 Jun 2007 04:14 PM |
It had been a trick he had used countless times, and yet it still brought a self satisfied smirk to his burn scarred face every time it worked. He pulled the edge of his cape out of the gap between the door and the wall and walked quietly to his desk avoiding the floorboards he knew creaked. Sometimes the simplest thing was very important to a guyver. Opening and closing a door so silently no one knew you were ever there was one of those things. He studied the strange glass contraption that was simmering a grayish liquid and sending the steam through a myriad of tubes. It seemed mister Salt was well on his way to concocting a cure for Lord Tagreth. He nodded and turned toward his desk that had become half work space, and half a garden of some sort of fine silky looking stuff growing out of a tray of weird looking jelly. He smirked down at the experiment. A blotch of red caught his attention from the sea of white parchment that engulfed the other half of the desk. His heart jumped as he saw the musical note, a small sparrow perched in the open circle embossed in the red wax. He dove at the parchment forgetting any attempt at doing it quietly. As he broke the seal he frowned at a dirty piece of parchment ,with flecks of blood on it, that fell out of the folded letter. It was written in capitals, and simply said, DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOUR NAME IS JOHE JAXON The tightening in his chest pinched a bit harder as his hungry eyes drank in the flowing elven script that ran across the parchment.
Dearest Johe,
I would have wished that my homecoming would have been less eventful, or at least not involved the death threat to the only friend I really trust. However, my experience should tell me that this is only the way of things, and no less than I should have expected.
It would probably come as no surprise to you that the chest was opened largely to my influence and freely given opinion, and I have no regrets on that count. Though logically (a trait I will admit is not my strongest suit, but nonetheless) were it truly to have been a sincere attempt to end your life it was an inept and poorly executed one. More likely, both Xaranthir, Alton and I agree, it was simply a warning to others that you are marked.
I thought that possession of the enclosed note, which appeared on the road to Port Royale atop the chest, should by all rights be delivered to you. It is my hope that I will be able to deliver it personally, but if you are reading this then it is likely that I could not do so. I can be reached at the usual places once more, so do not hesitate to contact me through them. Do not think to spare me from danger, Johe, I trust you know that such things are long past possible and into the realm of improbable.
In hope of your continued well being, Your friend.
He sat down on the waiting wooden chair with a stunned sigh. His eyes darted from side to side under his black buckled eyebrows as he thought. He had gone to the Icy Vale at least once a month after he had been released from Midor Prison, trying to find any sign of her. The Atalan/ Deuergar attack had hit hard close to there, and he had been fearful for her safety, but there had been nothing, no sign or word of her anywhere. His head hitched slightly at a silent chuckle that prodded his throat. She had told him his feelings for her would fade with time. In fact she had probably been the most pleased of his friends when it was announced he and Cora were to be married. The mirth in his eyes died a little. The truth was Cora was his destiny, but first loves never fade. And, to be sure, she couldn't have picked a worse time to reappear. If they were worth their salt, and did their research, (and he knew they were, and did), Hezekiah's Breath would recognize her as a great hostage to force the issue. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. That nap was going to have to wait. He checked his pouches and nodded. There was enough hard tack, and dried beef to get him there.
He turned and scrawled a quick note on the nearest piece of parchment he could find.
Phelia,
I went to find Macha, if she comes here, tell her to stay, VERY important.
JJ
Before the quill even hit the desk he was gone. |
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Subtext and Facade, or Welcome Home
Posted: 07 Jun 2007 12:48 AM |
The lithe woman stalked gracefully through the trees, her delicate feet meeting the damp ground with only a soft shuffle of wet leaves as she navigated through the swampy area. Her face carried little expression, the shadows that hid her relieving her of the pleasant smile she habitually wore even as she stepped out from the cover of tree and shadow both.
Her green-tinged eyes drifted to the monument as she entered the plains, focusing on the hazy glow surrounding the stone before she allowed herself to move from the path into the grass. Her toes pushed through the red flowers littering the ground, clearing a small space before her body gracefully reclined onto the ground, hands supporting her upper body as her legs stretched before her. She tilted her head back on her shoulders and into the perpetual drizzle for a moment, the melancholy smile lifting her lips fixing in place as she looked toward the shocked voice that suddenly spoke from her left.
“M..Macha?” the hin guyver stood just a few feet from her, his scarred face registering for only a moment in her mind before smoothing out again as she’d always known him. The mixed emotions moving through the dark eyes remained, though, and her smile turned to a reassuring one as she sat up straight and winked at him.
“Ah, Johe. I’m so glad to see you again, and well.” Her arms rested casually over her legs, head tilting as he opened his mouth to speak again, only to fade into darkness at the crunching of gravel on the road to their right. The bard turned her head toward the sound, a polite smile gracing her lips as she inclined her head to the man who gave her a brief bow.
“Macha.” Tristian Vike returned her polite smile, then looked past her to give a smile and nod to the once more visible Johe as well. “Johe, how are you?”
“I’m okay.” The guyvers features didn’t attempt to stretch into a smile as he looked between the reclining bard and the man, finally moving over and sitting next to the red-haired woman with a deep sigh. She surveyed him for a moment before she spoke to him in elven, losing a tinge of her formal tone.
“I’m glad to see you well, Johe, and I assume you got my note. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” His dark eyes moved to her face, then back to Tristian and she allowed her gaze to follow as well, continuing the polite, teasing conversation with the human even as she awaited an answer from her friend.
“Yeah, I got it. I was lookin’ fer you, Macha. I was worried somethin’ might 'appen ta you, these buggers ain’ anyone ta mess with..” He answered her in common, but softly, his eyes darting to the human man again before turning morosely to the monument.
She let a tone of mirth creep into her voice as she beamed a smile at Johe, giving a short comment to Tristian before turning her head back toward the guyver and returning a reply in common. “Now, Johe…I’m more concerned with what kind of trouble you seem to have gotten yourself into this time. After all this time, still it seems that I will remain safely alive.”
He shot her a short glare before moving his gaze to the ground, the human man shifting uneasily to her right at their exchange before clearing his throat. “Perhaps I should be going..” he started, as Johe gave another low comment, his dark gaze watching the small red flowers tip under the continuing rain.
“Ya know if these folks do their 'omework, an' I'll wager they did, they’ll 'ave no prolem usin' you ta get ta me..” the guyver trailed off, casting her another glance of worry mixed with annoyance as she smiled back at him and reached out to pat his arm.
“Johe, honestly. There is always something or someone to fight, isn’t there?” She paused and flashed a smile to Tristian before looking back to Johe, a mildly pleasant expression fixed on her face despite what moved behind her eyes. “I’ve been kidnapped, stalked, tortured, an attempted sacrifice.” She paused, giving her head a rueful shake as her expression faded to seriousness. “Listen, Johe. If for some reason whoever these people are should decide to come after me, don’t let them use me to get to you. If I should be taken, it would make little difference what might happen to me. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You kin not say things like that, is what you kin do!” Johe growled, moving his angry gaze to her for a long moment before setting his jaw and looking away again, his body shifting restlessly in the field of flowers. The composed bard took a moment to watch him, then let a smile drift over her face again and reached out to let a slender hand rest on his arm.
Tristian, surveying the whole exchange, rose finally to his feet with an apologetic smile. “It seems that the two of you have things to discuss.” He paused and then let his smile grow as his eyes moved to the road once more, catching Ophelia as she paused and cleared her throat. Johe as well came to his feet, moving to greet the half-orc, the three of them speaking for a moment or two. Macha watched them briefly without comment before returning her eyes to the monument to their left, humming softly to herself.
After a few moments, Tristian and Ophelia both excused themselves, each going a separate way down the road as Johe came to sit next to Macha again with a long sigh. He cast a glance in her direction, finally speaking quietly in elven.
"You tol' me a long, long time ago this'd go away.” He reached a worn hand up, touching it lightly to his chest as he met her gaze for a long moment before looking away again. “But it didn't."
The elven woman’s expression faded to blankness briefly at his words, the habitual pleasantness moving from her face like falling water. Her composure broken, the emotions behind her eyes expanded to the smooth features to expose a deep sadness. She let her now dark, green-tinged eyes remain on her friend revealingly for just a glimpse before turning her head away to find the monument once more, her normally controlled voice tight with withheld emotion when she spoke.
“I lied.” The words were clipped as they escaped over her pressed lips, grief and pain moving intermittently over her face as she fought for control once more. “It never goes away.”
His gaze fell on her, studying her as she kept her focus elsewhere. He finally looked away as well, and they let the quiet fall between them for a few minutes before the guyver spoke once more quietly.
“Could ya jus’ stay in Port fer a while, til this blows ova? You an' I both know if they took ya, trap or no’, I’d come fer ya. It’s some kinda 'onor among thieves thing, they won’ touch me, or you, there.” He didn’t shift his gaze as the words fell from his lips, and she simply nodded quietly before speaking back.
“I’ll stay within the city, Johe, if you think that’s safest.” Her voice was soft, girlish almost, the professional tone stripped away with the emotions on her face. The deep eyes remained locked on the monument as she opened her right hand and turned it palm up to the rain.
The guyver shot her a surprised look at her ready agreement, then stood slowly and held out a hand to her. After a brief pause, she nodded once and placed her long-fingered hand in his and allowed him to help her up. Neither looked at the other as they turned to the road and headed back to Port Royale, the shadows moving to slip around them as they entered the forest quietly. |
Trishy
Macha Sparrowsong - Song is my life
Coretta Alandar - Cleric of Midoran
Dekla Debena - whatever
Not all people who wander are lost.
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Fade to Black
Posted: 12 Jun 2007 06:24 PM |
He watched her disappear into the shadows with that familiar smirk. He had surprised himself with the way he had talked to her. He was so used to her words slicing into him. So used to the way his love for her would pull the wound open for her to see and enjoy. So used to begging her to understand. But tonight?... She had reached the bone beneath the blood. There was no more meat to slice into with barbed words, and the bone could not, WOULD not yield. So many people, Ophelia included, wondered at his commitment to her, but they didn't know, couldn't know what they had had before the shadows came and took her. She was different now, and what had taken him so long to understand was that she wasn't the woman he loved anymore. And no amount of words or explanations would change that. No, if he was going to get HIS Cora back, he had to take on the Shadow with the weapons he had amassed in secret over the past few months. The shadow controlled her now, even if she would not admit it, it was a truth that everyone could see.
He took a deep breath and looked across to Ophelia with a slow nod. He had repaired the damage Cora had caused with her lies. But, again, he couldn't stay angry with her. She was in with the god of lies, what did they expect from her? Diatribes extolling the virtues of clean living? He chuckled to himself quietly. He would rescue Cora one way or another. For now he just had to hope that her overconfidence in her safety from Hezekiah's Breath would keep her out of their grasp until he could find the cure for Tagreth's curse, freeing his mind to name the leader of the assassins.
He really was surprised at himself as he breathed steadily and with purpose. Usually after seeing her he was breathless and without purpose. But the realization of what he had to do to get her back, the true danger of it, and the meagreness of his chances had put him into an odd state of calm over the past few months as he had prepared for it. What she was doing out there without him hurt him, there was no denying it, but the calm that came from knowing it is what it is, and not what it will be, gave him the demeanor of a carefree vagabond that relished the freedoms of having nothing. He smiled as he pictured himself in an old smokey tavern listening to the words that wafted through his mind as he had watched her fire her seductively painful words at him from a safe distance.
I wonder where you are tonight
you're probably on the rampage somewhere
you have been known to take delight
in gettin' in somebody's hair
and you always had the knack
fade to black
I bet you already made a pass
I see a darkened room somewhere
you run your finger round the rim of his glass
run your fingers through his hair
they scratch across his back
fade to black
well maybe it's all for the best
but I wish I'd never been lassooed
maybe it's some kind of test
I wish I'd never been tattooed
or been to hell and back
fade to black
Ophelia raised an eyebrow at him as she waited for him to speak. The movement pulled him from his reverie, as he smiled at her with a nod. They both stood without a word and walked toward the door.
((Credits: Dire Straits )) |
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Zarkalboogie
Posted: 13 Jun 2007 03:50 PM |
Sir Johe Jaxon, mighty knight of the shire, looked around warily as the soldiers closed in, all wearing spiked armor and carrying deadly weapons oozing with black icor. He gripped his trusty weapon with both hands, an intense look of contempt gleaming in his determined black eyes. The evil soldiers surrounded him with sneering looks as a demented laugh rang out behind them, the laugh of his arch nemesis. The anger in his mind caused his knuckles to whiten as he gripped his trusty weapon tighter.
"c'mon then" said the knight, a confidant smirk on his face.
And come they did, diving at the champion of goodness with evil fervor. Sir Johe deftly dodged the first attack banging the attacker in the back of the skull with a mailed fist. As the rest of the horde closed in to grab him he let out a mighty roar and swung his weapon in a wide arc cleaving evil limb after evil limb, until not a single soldier stood. The sickening laughter had stopped as quickly as it had begun. The paladin of purity looked around for his sworn enemy, and saw him fleeing up a nearby tree, more than likely to rain down death magics upon our hero.
"Oh no you don't!", shouted the defender of the shire, quickly removing his armor so as to persue more expeditiously. Gripping his trusty weapon in his teeth he grunted with meniacle determination as he scaled the great tree with impossible speed.
Nearing the top of the tree he saw the evil one cowering at the end of a branch, a hopeless look on his ugly, fanged face.
Sir Johe stepped onto the limb , holding his weapon before him.
"So Zarkalboogie, ya met yer mach!"
A woman screamed from below, obviously calling for the evil ones head...or was she?
"Jahosophat Benttoe Jaxon!!! Git yer bluddy bottom down frum that tree afore ya break yer bluddy neck rite NOW!!!"
Li'l Johe, (as his friends called him), looked down at the beet red , round face of his mother dejectedly, in his underwear , the hickory stick in his hand slumping in defeat.
"Aaaaaw mummy it's not that far up"
"NOW mista" , was the response.
Somewhere an evil nasty named Zarkalboogie chortled with glee at his narrow escape, the sounds of those chortles bringing a red tinge to li'l Johes ears. His mother squealed in terror as he jumped down from the tree branch, landing somewhat deftly on the ground.Except for the fact that his nose banged into his knee, it was actually a perfect landing.
The rotund red faced lady pulled a kerchief from her bosum shaking her head as she dabbed the kerchief to the young boys gushing nose.
I swear cyfi, wunna thees days yer gonna kill yerself if'n ya don' lern a little fear! Eether that or yer gonna kill me! Yasee these grey 'airs? they all gots YER name on 'em!!"
Black eyes looked up at her confused from under a shock of wild black hair.
"gotta be a reely small quil ta rite on them mummy"
Sighing deeply the lady put an arm around her son and waddled to the mound to wash his face.
" An' no more lissenin to them crazy bard stories!"
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He punched the pillow with a little fist and flopped his head back down on it with a huff. Eyes squeezed shut, he tried to drive the thoughts that kept him awake out of his whirling head, but they buzzed and nagged like a cloud of gnats on the road. Ophelia had told him that Balthor had tried to hurt her. He had told her that Balthor was a friend of the guyvers, hells, he was practically one of the founders of the rag tag band. She had accepted it with a hurt reluctance, and they had left it at that...until tonight. Balthor had been in the store helping mister Vike with some sort of nervous breakdown he was having. Well...helping wasn't really an accurate description. Bruce, his bat familiar, seemed to be driving the empty looking dwarf like a dilapidated cart with a missing wheel. When he had been sure that everything was handled, he had left the scene, only to be followed by the bat, and told things he had had no idea about. Things that had opened up Ophelia's relationship to Balthor in a big, disturbing way. Apparently there was this place called Abaddon where souls were tortured instead of being allowed to go...well, wherever souls went when they were spent. Apparently, also, the "leader" of this terrible place was someone called "the Sugar Man". The guyver glared at the wall clutching his pillow as the thoughts buzzed on. Somehow, Ophelia...the overgrown child, who would be the last person anyone might suspect of being able to do so... summoned??? the Sugar Man to help her get rid of those who she perceived were being "mean" to her, and SOMEHOW Balthor's son had become a victim of all of this, and had landed up in the dreaded Abaddon. The guyver heaved an angry sigh. He had promised the guyvers would get Balthor's son back, and they would do just that. The anger in his eyes softened. At first it had angered him that his new partner,and his old partner were at such odds, over something so serious, but as his mind started to come up with possible plans, based on possible information that Balthor, or Bruce would be bringing him, he came to realize that the fact that Ophelia was with them was a huge advantage. She had been the one who had started this, and it seemed inescapable that she was the key to finishing it. He rolled over punching the pillow again with a grunt, as a scared childlike look haunted his face. He had spent most of his fantasy life, as a child killing Zarkalboogie, and his minions during the day. It was the only thing that helped him make it through the terrifying nights, after mother sang to him and waddled away assuring him there were no monsters. After the door would close, and the cold breath would seethe from under his bed. After the whispered nightmares that soaked pajama's and bedding with fear pushed urine. He shook his head violently and opened his eyes. And now, it seemed, that if a child could call him while a great wizard like Balthor could not, he finally knew Zarkalboogie's real name.
The Sugar Man |
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A Spoonful of Sugar
Posted: 19 Jun 2007 04:55 PM |
WhY iS it Here?...*blood smudges*...Can't...*blood smudges*
...STAY...WhY IS IT HERE JOHE??...*blood smudges*...pain...
*Large blood smudges*
WaSn't Suppose to come back....
It...Loves..Me.
I'm...Sorry.
He looked at the crumpled note in his hands with vacant eyes. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there. Only small snippets of memory wandered the dangerous terrain of chaos that was his mind. He had gone to find Ophelia, finding the note in a guyver store that looked more like an abattoir than anything else. As he followed the trail of blood through Port Royal guilt had gripped his mind. How could he have not heard what was happening to her through one wooden wall?! His mind had wandered to the visit from the "secret guyver". Kalid had appeared from the shadows with her usual sneering smile that was like a seductive twist of a lip under a thin layer of contempt. She had told him that during her sneakings she had overheard Macha making plans to leave the Port and speed the demise she seemed so obsessed with. The news had broken his heart into little angry pieces. He remembered glaring at the floor in thought. She had said something that his mind had muffled, and then... the forgotten touch of a soft hand raising his chin... sensual eyes with the look of a hunter approaching a snare load of supper... full, red lips approaching his... a spicy, lustful smell of "special" wake up calls in the middle of the night...and then the soft, yet forceful, taste of cherries...
She had left without a word after the kiss, but she had already done her damage. Less than an hour later he had been sleeping like the dead.
The blood trail had led to the chess hall, a place he knew Ophelia enjoyed on occasion. She was there being tended to by Salt Sower, mister Vike, and Kalid who had flipped him a secret smile. Speaking to mister Salt, and Ophelia had revealed little. Mister Salt saying it needed to be forgotten, and Ophelia, (woundless, but with more blood coming from her mouth than usual), simply insisting that no one should ever go to the Guyver store again.
Frustrated, he had made his way back to the Guyver store, determined to find the person who DARED hurt a guyver in their own house. He had walked in draped in shadow and holding his weapons at the ready. Other than the petulant Zigzig, the only other living being he had found had been Bruce the bat. They had exchanged puzzled hello's and then all hells had broken loose. Black tentacles appeared from the cracks in the floorboards whipping the air with menacing whistles. A creature that COULD only exist in nightmares appeared among the tentacles and let out a laugh that had reached into his very soul and turned it into a shriveled raisin of its former self. Bruce squeaked loud and fast spewing advice on how to deal with the Sugar Man and his minions. Telling him to empty his mind none of it was real, NEVER to use names, and recite mundane poetry to himself as a defense. The nightmare being looked at Bruce, it's mouth opening impossibly wide. Johe had turned to look at Bruce just in time to see his little body explode into a pink puff of blood vapor. He looked back at the nightmare stalker with wide eyes that seemed to search for mundane poetry in a library filled with classics. He pulled a throwing dagger from his boot and hurled it at the nightmare and watched as it turned into a repulsive bird that flew about the room and landed on the creature's shoulder eying him hungrily. The creature gazed into his mind with eyes that sucked the fight right out of him, replacing it with a hopelessness that seemed more at home there than any of the self deceiving valor and recklessness he had forced there day after meaningless day. He slumped to his knees and began to sob at the reality of it all. He was alone, fighting for the love of someone who couldn't love anymore, against a foe he could never defeat. He was burned, ugly, defiled by the inhabitants of Midor Prison, worthless, useless, all for...for what? All he wanted was for her to hold him and tell him it was alright, and the being in front of him was offering him just that from a mouth that trickled blood and hope. All he had to do was go with her to see the Sugar Man. HE would make everything alright. Johe reached out to her with hopeless shaking hands.
Then he blinked.
He heard the sound of whistling tentacles under his bed. The sound of his father yelling breathlessly from the other room to shut the hells up and go back to sleep, there was no such thing as a Zarkalboogie. He looked at the blood dribbling from her lips, and saw Ophelia holding a kerchief to reddened lips. That was it! That was why she was in the condition she was in. She had gone to see the Sugar Man. Bruce's small voice yelled in his mind.
"It's NOT REAL!!!"
His eyebrows dove towards his nose in a determined scowl as he growled,
"NO!"
The nightmare shrugged as she started to fade, leaving him with the hopeless loneliness, and the memory of every one of his failures that had tortured him from that moment to this...
He looked at the crumpled note in his hands with vacant eyes. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, but judging by the grumbles emanating from his stomach it had been a long while. He stood with a labored groan and tried to dance the pins and needles from his sleeping feet.
He looked about the store with a determined glint in his black eyes.
"Ya met yer mach this time Zarkalboogie," he said in a hollow voice, " I know 'oo you are, an' I know where ya cum frum."
He checked his blades as he walked toward the door.
"But mos' importantly," He squinted at nothing in particular wishing he had his old hickory stick, " Nobuddy c'n git me where I'm goin' like I can, an' nobuddy, NOBUDDY! c'n beet me up about 'ow I got there more 'n me neetha."
He stepped into the shadows with an evil snarl. A moment later the door to the Guyver store opened briefly and slammed shut. |
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Burn me once...
Posted: 29 Jun 2007 03:18 PM |
The guyver packed the last of the traps he had constructed into the magical bag, unable to resist the urge to put it in and pull it out, watching with amusement from every conceivable angle as he did so. It never ceased to amaze him, even after so many years as a guyver, how the magic bags could hold so much, and weigh so little. After a while he frowned at himself and drew the drawstring on the bag with a small sigh.
He was ready.
He turned to his newly repaired armor laid out on the bed and walked toward it slowly, almost reverently. He looked at the new gloves that he had ordered, the rich purple color he had asked for, a homage to the girl he was doing this all for. He reached for the midnight black leather and started to put it on piece by piece, the thoughts in his mind written in his eyes like words on a page. Hezekiah's Breath had threatened her as well as the Fire Knives, and for that they had to be removed with extreme prejudice, by any means possible or necessary. That meant guyvering the cure, which... he drew in a deep breath, sharpening his resolve against the steel of his own fear... which meant going back to Fiirhallen.
His memory dragged his mind kicking and screaming back to that day. Paralyzed by a word, and stripped of everything. Burned head to toe by the searing flames that roared from the Fire Bitch's fingers, the scars so painful, his flesh cooked so deeply that no known magic could take away the grotesque visage he had been forced to live with since that day. Juylina standing there with that smile plastered to her smug face like bird droppings on flagstone. The helplessness, the hopelessness, and...the pain...
Excruciating, exquisite, pain.
He blinked away the memory along with something else that must have been in his eye, with the gruff clearing of his throat. He had not returned there since that day. The fact was, at first he really wanted to. Vengeance was a big part of being a guyver, but the fact that the Fire Bitch had forced him to be there that day by holding the entire village of Brandibuck hostage, had kept him away. One guyvers' revenge wasn't worth the loss of a whole village of his halfling brothers and sisters. But things were different now. He needed the cure for Tagreth, the extreme aging he had undergone from the poison had affected his mind. Only with the cure would he be able to remember just who it might be that was running Hezekiah's Breath, and only THEN would they be able to bring the bastards down. And then...with her safe, he could turn his attention to the shadows and their hold on her. He took another deep breath and pulled the last strap tight. Turning to the oily towel where his blades lay cleaned and blackened he smiled grimly. After inspecting the blades, he slid each one into its secret scabbard, eyes blinking with gratification at the crisp click as each one locked into place. As was his custom, taught him by the old paladin who raised him, he turned toward the mirror to look for the insatiable voracity that lived inside his eyes, the determination that had kept him going this long on this fools quest. He wasn't disappointed. They would go in with helmets disguising their faces. They would go in under a white flag so there could be no excuses from the Fire Bitch when her minions attacked anyway. And when the buggers attacked, they would be cleared to systematically wipe out everything in the temple until they found the king and the seed he guarded. It didn't matter that the scars he wore were deeper than his skin, or that the fire had burned his mind and spirit. It didn't matter that anytime he came even close to flame it caused his bones to feel like shards of icy glass tearing at his muscles from the inside out, and now he would be wandering among the lava pools of Fiirhallen looking for a measly seed. It didn't matter that what little was left of the child that cringed and wailed inside him was terrified to the point of insanity.
He turned from the mirror and walked on steady legs to meet up with the volunteers and guyvers who were waiting to help.
All that mattered was winning. |
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The battle no one saw (prelude)
Posted: 07 Jul 2007 12:27 AM |
He climbed out of the tub and dug around in the pile of used towels on the floor for a towel that smelled halfway clean. Rubbing the coarse cloth over his skin he turned towards the mirror and froze. A young fresh faced halfling peered back at him with a disbelieving smile and a twinkle in his mischievous eyes. It still felt like a dream. He figured it would take a long while for the shock of being whole again to wear off. He turned and walked across the hall to the bedroom to begin the impossible quest of trying to find something at least halfway clean to wear. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he muttered something about doing laundry one of these days as he sifted through a pile of clothes sniffing the occasional sock and discarding it in disgust. After a fruitless search he flopped back onto the couch and turned his face toward the fire. So many things about that fateful night had been resolved by a battle that no one had fought or seen. No one but him. He closed his eyes and drifted back.
Past the winged messenger telling him they saw through his secrecy, and knew he was approaching with his accomplices.
Through the mines that had been abandoned by the salamander guards.
Beyond the descent into the pyroclastic dust and showers of spark and liquid death that the mountain spat at them.
The only thing that drove each black booted foot in front of the other.
The only thing that caused the shale stone to crunch under his feet like a carpet of cockroaches meeting their end.
The only thing that shooed the ironclad hand of fear from his thrumming heart.
Was the hate that roiled inside the black, oily landscape that had been his soul since the last fateful time he had been here.
All he saw in his mind was the winged form of the woman he knew only as the "fire bitch", but some called Illyana, the high priestess of Naruth. He smelled her on the hot rippling air that vented up from the lava below, and his frowning eyebrows wrapped around his eyes like miniature anacondas preparing to kill and dine. He was ready for her this time. He wasn't some naive hick from the Buck anymore. The scars she had armed him with had done more than make him repulsive to those unfortunate enough to look at him. They had steeled him for this very moment of vengeance, blood, bone and death. He could almost feel the slippery moan of her writhing heart as it spat one last ribbon of blood onto his arms, jerked and died in his squeezing hand. His eyes rolled back in his head at the anticipated ecstasy of that moment. So they knew he was coming, so what? Nothing would rob him of his precious destiny! The heat reached through his fire cursed skin, the agony of it causing him to shiver and sweat all at once, but he forged on. Nothing would stop him now. NOTHING.
The newest guyver, Lyle Ashe, had expressed interest in coming along, as had a young woman named Alyssa, who it later turned out was a priestess of Naruth. He shook his head with a grim smile. Lyle wasn't ready for this trip. He was young, and while he showed promise, and confidence in his abilities, it would have been like putting a dead fish on a skewer over a campfire if he had brought him here. The proof of that burnt pudding yelled out constantly behind him as Tristian had to constantly shield his "apprentice", and/or "water bearer" Timik, from the hatred that the mountain spewed at them at regular fiery intervals. No this was a job, only for those he could trust to do what needed to be done, expeditiously, and without forethought, or a queasy moment of soul searching, not that he mistrusted Timik, quite the contrary, but the poor fellow was having quite a rough time of the journey. He looked back at his most trusted friends. Ophelia slogged through the shale, eyes firmly fixed on him. It was so difficult to remember she was just a kid, when she took such motherly care of him. He knew he could count on her. Alton with the deserved frown on his face heading to a place diametrically opposed to the ideals of his mistress, but doing it for an old friend anyway. As for Tristian, while he disagreed with the hunter bringing Timik, he knew that he had built a relationship with the man that oozed trust and understanding. They both knew what their jobs were in Vives, and where those duties intersected, they knew they would be there. Then there was Macha. As much as he cared for her, and would do anything to keep her from harm, he was grateful she was there. Besides, they had made a deal. They would take on the threat to both of them together, no heroics, no sacrifices. It was to be all or nothing. He knew her blade would fly quickest and with the least resistance to any mark that needed to be eradicated. Too many mistook her interest in wine, and socializing for weakness, but he was certainly not one of those fools. He caught a twinkle of an eye and an upturned mouth corner on Tristan's face as he walked behind her and stole a glance at her curvaceous posterior. A lifetime ago that would have sent surges of jealous pain through his heart, but he and Macha had spoken of those things. He couldn't hide an amused smirk. The hunter would be disappointed if he thought his trappings could snare her broken heart. He turned from his trusted team and glared into the future.
Through the arched stone doorway, and toward the stone bridge. He reminded himself he was here for the seed that was needed to cure Lord Tagreth, and quite possibly mister Salt Sower, but deep inside the very sinew of his clenched muscles screamed for more... The absolute annihilation every being that inhabited this cursed place deserved, and would receive.
By whatever means neccesary... |
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The battle no one saw
Posted: 12 Jul 2007 09:58 AM |
The ragged band approached the stone bridge. The guyver shivered feverishly in the swelter and shook his head once to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, he stared at the two solitary figures that seemed to dance with a strange undulation as the heat waves blew up from the lava below. Alyssa, the nosy bitch priestess of Naruth standing with the newest guyver, Lyle Ashe, two confused eyes peering like broken saucers over the mask he always wore to cover his face.
"Buggerin' 'ell's", he muttered bitterly as he glanced back at a shrugging Ophelia, and put a tentative foot onto the bridge, black eyes checking the immediate terrain for any sign of a trap. Alyssa gave him a whithering smile her eyes darting quickly to Lyle and then back to him, a wordless affirmation that Lyle was in far more danger than his naivety could possibly imagine.
"Johe.. I... what are you doing here?" Ashe droned.
The guyver held out a calming hand as his mind raced. He had not expected, or wanted a chess match. He knew that the Fire Bitch's curse would make it hard enough to fight, but that was second nature to him after all these years. Now he had to think and parlay as well in a place where not only the inhabitants hated him, the terrain itself flung fiery curses at him with every breath he struggled to heave into his battered lungs. He drew another ragged breath, steeling himself, and then...
The chess board changed...
At first all he saw in the haze was what looked like a juggler tossing about flaming rods for his finale, as an unseen crowd applauded with the sound of a house ablaze. Then the meaty arms that grasped the impossibly large, flaming great swords came into view, followed by the flaming fire giant eyes that glared across the bridge at him with black smoke eyebrows that billowed under a golden helm that could comfortably house a small halfling family in the shire. He heard Ophelia's armor clank as she shifted in surprise. He glanced back. She was looking back at more fire giants that had come up behind them with an almost out of place look of panic on her large orcish face.
"Uuummm...ummm Johe?" her voice taut with fear.
"Eesy now 'Phelia." he attempted as calmly as he could. He shot a glance at Tristian who nodded and slid close to the orclun girl placing a calming hand on her shoulder ,and whispering in her ear as she frowned.
The guyver turned back to the bridge, his mind reeling from the cursed heat, was this all a dream? He truly couldn't tell. The fever in his brain was causing his mind to mumble, and his vision to pop and fizzle. He cleared his throat bowing his head to run his hands through his wild black hair. "Keep it tagetha lil fella," his faltering mind echoed back to him shakily,"this is yer show, if'n they see weekness yer dun." He looked up, a determined growl escaping from his tightened throat, and there she was...
The red and black robe whispering over the hiss of the liquid death so far below. The red hair floating weightless behind her in the updraft. Those eyes that regarded him with a stoic indifference. It had been so long since he had seen her, but his exhausted mind insisted against his memory that her demon like wings were hidden under that robe. That those fiery red lips could speak a word and he would be frozen in time and forced to watch as his friends were incinerated the way he was. That she was Illyana hated high priestess of Naruth. He drew his ice blades with more instinct than finesse, preparing to throw one of them in her face if she even took a breath to say the word that had made him her tortured plaything so many agonizing years ago. Everyone on the bridge froze in that moment, he was almost tempted to look down at his sequencer robes to see if he had accidentally activated the time stop spell that waited in its fibers, but the steady sound of melted ice dripping from his blades and sizzling on the stone beneath his feet pulled him from the thought. Illyana held up a hand glaring at him angrily.
"Why would you bring such anger and force into this place of peace," she intoned quietly," if you wish to parlay your way out of the obviously impossible situation you are in, I suggest you sheath your weapons." She motioned with her hands to the scores of fire giants that waited on both sides of the bridge as she spoke. The guyver felt the sensation of a cork from one of Doc McGillicutty's bottles of frothy ale popping off inside his mind and bouncing about the dark recesses with the energy of an angry pixie.
"Parlay?" he squinted up at the priestess through eyes that were jet black daggers of hatred, " why directly tha f@^k wuld I parlay with tha likes uf you! We's 'ere ta take tha seed, an' you c'n be sure we'll git it wun way or tha utha!"
"I don't think we can take this many Johe," the calm melodic voice eased into his head like massaging hands working away a rock hard knot. He didn't need to turn to know that Macha was behind him whispering into his ear, " perhaps it would be wise to hear what they have to say?"
He sheathed his blades slowly never taking his eyes from the priestess. The ringing in his ears muffled most of her words, he breathed a deep sigh trying to calm himself, trying to ease away the sudden feeling of vertigo that gripped at his chest. He had been in "fight or flight" mode from the moment he had set foot in the cursed place, and he had incontrovertably decided on FIGHT, and here she was, the woman he wanted to meat out guyver justice on in bucket loads, telling him that the followers of Naruth wanted to help mister Salt and Lord Tagreth, but only if he would cease all hostilities against them.
Then began the battle that no one would see.
Each shard of the shattered halfling that was Jehosophat Benttoe Jaxon met in a dark room where an old paladin had lived a long time ago.
"She wants us ta bluddy stop cummin' afta 'er cus she knows we c'n cream 'er AN' 'er bluddy giants! She's scaed!"
"Are you bluddy daft?! did you see 'ow many fire giants is out there? she's got us by tha bluddy balls!"
"D'vide an' conquer man I'm tellin' ya! They alredy divided, all we gotta do is bust tha bridge an' conquer."
"C'n we jus' go 'ome pleees? she's gonna bern us agen, I'd ratha die 'n feel that agen"
"Look, afta wut she dun ta us there's no bleedin' way we culd trust any kinda truce she'd agree ta. She 'eld tha Brandibuck 'ostage jus' ta torture us fer takin' a few baubles wut wus werthless ta 'er anyway!"
"Well," he cleared his throat with an angry growl and looked up at the priestess sending an ice cold voice at her like a volley of arrows," do ya reely think that afta wut you dun ta me I'd be dum enuff ta b'lieve a werd ya sed?"
"You have the word of Naruth guyver, that word is not only forged in stone, it IS stone."
He glanced back at his team. There they were, the loyal Ophelia, the steadfast Macha, The able and willing Tristian, the ever dependable Alton, and the determined Timik.
The battle continued...
"If I attacked now they'd fly inta action without a single thought."
"Yeah, frens like that is 'ard ta fin'. Seems a shame ta waste 'em on sumthin' like this wen there's a eesier way ta git wut we cum fer."
"Yer kiddin' rite?! This bitch took our face, an' we wan' it back! Amemba tha look on Cora's face wen she ferst seen us like this?"
"An' taken' 'em all out rite now is gonna git yer face back?! C'mon Johe. Revenge ain' gonna take these scars away, jus' like it ain' gonna git Cora back!"
"*sigh* Tha's a diffrent enemy, a diffrent time. We 'aveta git outta 'ere in wun peece ferst if'n we're gonna 'ave a chance at savin' 'er."
"Awlrite", he sighed , "I'll live with the scars ya giv me...it's ova, jus' plees gimme tha seed, an' we'll go." He looked down at his feet kicking a stray pebble to it's doom.
The priestess suddenly frowned in confusion. She thought for a moment then her eyebrows lifted in realization.
"My little man", she spoke gently," I am not Illyana... you do know that don't you?"
He took a small step back looking up at her with blinking eyes. He knew she was telling the truth, deep down inside he had always known, his anger and fury had fueled the hallucination as much as the fire curse had.
"No," he sighed looking down with an almost ashamed look," ya ain' are ya."
Alyssa stepped forward with two seeds and handed them to the guyver with a slow nod.
"Johe," she said with a thoughtful look on her face," I deem the actions taken by Illyana to be just." She ignored the dry smirk that appeared on the little mans face and continued quickly to avoid an unfortunate outburst from the guyver that may erase any progress made," but I also feel you have paid enough for your actions... I can take away the curse if you wish it."
He looked back at Macha and was surprised to see something moist glinting in the corner of her almond eyes. He frowned at himself in thought. An irrational part of him felt as if he would be saying goodbye to a very important part of himself if he agreed, but the thought of what Cora might think if she saw him the way he was made the choice easy.
"Yeah," he said simply, "I'd like that."
The priestess Alyssa waved a hand at the fire giants dispersing them to wherever they had come from and walked from the bridge to a flat spot of stone. She was mumbling something that sounded like a chant. Johe couldn't help but smile as he noticed Alton paying very close attention to her words, a distrustful look on his face. The priestess looked to the small piece of sky that peered into the caldera and raised her hands. A circle of flame appeared before her. She looked to Johe.
"Kneel in the circle Johe Jaxon," she said motioning with her slender hand.
Johe looked to Alton, who shrugged slightly then nodded reluctantly. The burn scarred guyver walked into the circle of flame and stood there for a long moment. He had never been one to bend a knee to anyone. It was difficult to do so now, for an entity that had long been hated, for a group of priestesses he was still very unsure he could trust. He looked to Macha. She smiled at him gently and patted the shaft of her spear with a nod. Johe nodded in understanding and knelt. Alyssa cleared her throat and raised her hands to the sky again. Johe looked up but couldn't hear a word she was saying even though it looked like she was shouting. The circle was filled with the sound of whooshing air that seemed to whisper and chant Naruth is merciful...Naruth is fair...Naruth is the birth of stone and justice...Naruth is everywhere...
The guyver bowed his head slightly frowning. In the back of his mind he could swear he heard a woman humming. Should he have waited for Gasher's mom to do this? She had said she would. For years he had wondered how She ever got anything done. She spent so much time and energy between her countless children trying to keep them from killing each other that it never seemed she made any other progress. He had called out to her in the desert and heard no answer. Had that been a mistake? Would the shadows know? Did she not help guyvers like him who had killed in the name of vengeance? Who's addiction to wiping out evil had led to madness and murder? Was he showing a lack of faith right now by taking this favor from the Naruthians? The muscles of his legs tightened as he thought to stand and end this here and now. Then the matronly voice in his head began to sing...
Mother
stands for comfort
Mother oh
will hide the murderer.
Mother
hides the madman.
Mother
will stay mum.
He bowed his head and smiled a secret smile as the scars melted from his skin.
(( Credits: Kate Bush for the lyrics, and Mr Sprinkles for a great story line )) |
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The battle no one saw (conclusion)
Posted: 13 Jul 2007 03:30 PM |
Fresh warm bread that Missus Miggins made special for a price, but no price would have been too high. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose. A pleased hum escaped his throat as he exhaled.
Yes. This would do nicely.
He set to work peeling the dry leaves from the outside of the head of lettuce, and cutting the ripe tomatoes into thick slices. As he worked he thought back on that fateful night in the volcano of Naruth. He had realized something that night. So many people simply EXPECTED the gods of good to protect them, and deliver them from their maladies. Those same people grew angry or upset when their expectations weren't met and blamed the gods for their short comings while evil thrived. If Gasher's mom indeed WAS the mother of ALL, as Gasher himself had so proudly put it. Then it was a bit much to expect that she would kill some of her children to save others wasn't it? Instead wouldn't it be more likely she would steer her children to do the right thing themselves? And even if it was against their nature, wouldn't she use motherly trickery to get them to do the right thing anyway? Like the mother that puts the medicine in the apple crisp, or the spinach under mashed potatoes and gravy?
He smiled at this as he sliced the beef and placed it on the bread.
And those who blamed the gods of good for standing by and doing nothing while the gods of evil seemed to be doing everything? He had been one of them until that night. If it was true that Gashers mom needed her children as much as they needed her. If it was true that to do the good she so desperately wanted to do she in fact needed the very children she wanted to help to be her arms, legs ,and hands. Then didn't that actually explain the whole problem in Vives? The gods of evil demanded compliance from their followers, and ruled with an iron fist, which meant that whatever they wanted done got done expeditiously and without question. If the gods of good had any fault, it was that they gave their followers freedom, which, admittedly, was a necessary part of goodness. Where that freedom became a liability, however, was when it allowed those who were supposed to be doing the work of arms, legs, and hands to second guess the direction given, and allow other factors to influence their actions.
He thought about this in silence as he placed the pickled cucumbers on the top of his masterpiece and started to wrap it tightly in paper, and tie it with string.
Somehow Gashers mom had taken the pain and the scars away, just as she had promised. The fact that she hadn't done it herself made it no less of a miracle. As to wether she would be able to help with Hezekiah's Breath, or the recapture of the stolen seeds by the same band of assassins, or the shadows that had their dark claws in his beloved Cora was another story altogether, but nothing he was going to worry about right now.
No.
Right now he needed to address something he had thought of a long long time ago that his friend Gasher had found quite amusing. When he had been younger and more naive he had thought of Gashers mom in a more literal sense, and had wondered at how such a woman could make "sammiches" for so many hungry children. A few days after the burning he had suffered at the hands of Illyana, he had been in such a terrible state, he had been near suicidal. A sandwich from Gashers mom, had saved him.* Recent events had made him wonder who cooked for the mother of all.
He smiled as he finished tying the string and placed the package carefully in his pack.
"Well we'll fix that rite quik," he said with a smile.
He wasn't sure how good of an arm, leg, or hand he could be. But one thing he was sure of was that he owed Gashers mom this at the very least. He put the pack over his shoulder and set out into the night to deliver a sandwich.
(( *Page 3 of this thread "Apron Strings")) |
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The Seed and the Sower
Posted: 21 Jul 2007 11:16 PM |
"If you want the seeds come and get them"
The note was simple enough, but it spoke volumes. It spoke of the success the guyver and his cohorts had had in thwarting every attempt Hezekiah's Breath had made on their lives. It said that the Breath was tired of chasing down the ragged band. But it also said that the Breath had three aces up their sleeve. Firstly, Tagreth was dead without the cure the seeds offered. Secondly, Salt would most likely be dead soon enough without the power of the seeds as well, and from what he had heard, there were no more seeds to be obtained from the Naruthians for another year at least...that was far too long. And the third ace was that the only way the guyvers would be able to get a chance at the seeds was to go to THEIR turf... a decided disadvantage when dealing with scumbag assassins. All he and Ophelia and the rest of the guyver faithful could do now was wait for Salt and Oswin to solve the strange pictogram at the bottom of the note so they knew where to go. And wait he did. He paced the worn path in the carpet between the door to his bedroom, and the door to the bathroom, the glowing ember in his black eyes a dangerous shade of red reflected from the dim light of the candle on the desk in the shadowy gloom. It was dangerous to speak of plans in the guyver store. Everyone knew the shadows were listening here, and it was quite possible those same shadows were in league with Hezekiah's Breath, or visa verse. He smirked at the thought. He smirked because the most shaded place in the entire building was ironically the safest place to make plans away from the prying eyes, and listening ears of the shadows. It was a place where he could search for that fourth ace and slip it surreptitiously up his sleeve. He grinned broadly at the ideas that skittered through the dark place. The Breath were shrewd, the Breath were deadly, but NO ONE was as wiley as a guyver with his back to the wall.
The darkest place in the guyver store was his mind.
And it was there he found the fourth ace.
He walked out of the guyver store to get what he would need, praying to Gashers mom that she would help him pull it off if she liked her sandwich. |
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Looking for luck
Posted: 15 Aug 2007 04:06 PM |
He watched the foam from the ale in his lucky mug slide lazily toward the bar top as a growl vibrated in his throat. The bastards had Salt, and, according to his friend Vrodo, and newly made acquaintance Saana, they had Tristian as well. He rubbed at his eyebrows with angry thumb and hopeless forefinger, his eyelids squeezed shut as if to hold out reality just long enough to imagine a dream of hope. He sat back with a sigh lifting the mug to his lips.
" The less you give a guyver the more he can make of it!"The chuckling voice of an old paladin, and friend long gone echoed in the dark recesses of his mind. If such words were true, he smiled to himself wryly, he was about to pull off a ruse of epic proportions. He patted the pouch on his lap that had the smoke bomb he was going to pass off as incurable poison. It was a ruse that was just crazy enough to work, but he had no backup plan. Besides which he had lost Tristian's sword, and Salt's magic, and, by the looks of things, he was going to lose Ophelia as well. Not that he could blame her. She had asked him if he knew where she would go when she died, and why that gave her serious hesitations when it came to risking life and limb on an impossible task. He shuddered at the memory of the Sugarman's envoy, and shook his head violently to shake the foreboding that clung to his brain with sticky claws. No. He couldn't blame her at all. He on the other hand couldn't turn his back on Salt and Tristian. It was a weakness of his to be sure, but he felt responsible for them, and simply HAD to at least try to rescue them, and the seeds they so desperately needed. Vrodo, and Saana had said they would go to the Breath's lair, but whether they did or not made little difference. There was no way this could be a straight raid made up of brute force, and magical fire. And, judging by the sheer makeup of the group, stealth alone wouldn't be much use either. Which left only, deceit, guile, and sheer insane tenacity.
Black eyes blinked as thoughts bounced back and forth weaving a web of outlandish ideas as a black gloved hand poured the rest of the mug of ale past a quaking heart into the fortitude of his intestines. He nodded to himself curtly as he slid the mug down the bar toward Margaret. He took out a piece of steel wire and started to bend it into a "U" as the ideas fell into place.
He would have to go to Oswin. Oswin was the only one besides Salt who knew how to weave the spell needed to open the portal. While he was there he would procure the sample of the poison used on Tagreth and infect the leader of whoever he may find in the Breath's lair. Yes that would infect himself as well, but the fact was if he couldn't figure a way out of there with the seeds and his friends he was most likely dead anyway. It was also the last thing the bastards would expect which made it the first thing he wanted to do. Beside the fact that it would increase the value of the seeds to the Breath so that they wouldn't be tempted to destroy them, and, if he was lucky, it would elevate Salt to VERY important if he was the only one who knew the exact recipe for the cure. He cleared his throat and looked up from his "metalwork experiment" in time to stop his lucky mug from sliding off the bar. He nodded in thanks to Margaret and downed half of the mug in one large gurgle. If it worked it would give them a position of power, which Jessup had always said was the only position one wanted to negotiate from if they wished to win.
He looked down at the piece of wire in his hand. As for a backup plan...there wasn't much. But if there wasn't going to be a position of power to be had then he would need what every guyver needed when everything seemed lost. He slid the piece of metal into his mouth around his lower jaw between gum and cheek and nodded to Margaret as he headed toward the door.
When all else was lost, all a good guyver really needed...
Was a lock pick. |
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Debriefing in a Bottle
Posted: 20 Aug 2007 06:00 PM |
He rolled out the painting on the floor, pinning the curling corners down with the ale bottles he had emptied while staring into the fire trying to make sense of it all. The face that stared back at him from the canvass taunted him without smiling, and bewildered him without emotion. It was the face of a halfling whose soul had been bored out by fear and hate. So much fear and hate that it had built to a crescendo that had been impossible to contain in the hin's small frame, but instead of it expanding to the point of destroying him, it had collapsed in on itself to become hopeless serenity encapsulated in emotionless stone. He tore himself away from the painting and pulled another bottle of Doc McGillicutty's ale from the rough wooden box next to the couch. The cork "plooped", and the golden elixir coursed down his throat doing little to ease the ache just below his sternum. The ache of failure.
They had fought their way through so much even before entering the portal that took them to the Breath's secret lair. They bled, and fell, and got up and bled again. Unrelenting. Tenacious. Like true guyvers they took their lumps, but never backed down, never gave up until they reached their goal. The leaders' bed chamber. And there they all had been, waiting. Pitter-Patter, Bugby, the Professor, the "animal" girl, a few others he didn't recognize, and the halfling leader with his precious painting. Then, in the crystal ball, they witnessed the death of Lord Tagreth, loved and respected leader of the Fire Knives. And then everything had become surreal to the little guyver, like the dream of the talking bath tub drain, and the ducks of power. The envoy of the Sugar man appeared with her entourage of black tentacled nightmares that seemed to cheer at every gout of blood that coughed from her gaping maw. The leader of the Breath began to leak the reddish black goop from the corners of his emotionless mouth as well. Johe remembered thinking it was more the texture of burgundy cottage cheese than blood, and found himself wondering if the blood had coagulated inside himself because of the time it had taken to exact his vengeance... If maybe the bleeding had started a long long time ago, with the swipe of a red mailed fist that punctuated a crime blamed on an innocent man... a man the guyver had spent months trying to save while trying to keep his band alive. The leader of Hezekiah's breath nodded to the envoy and held out a small hand to her which she took with a deranged smile.
" I 'ope it wus werth it ya bluddy arse'ole," the guyver muttered with impotent fury as the black tentacles swallowed them from sight. One of the members of the Breath, a woman he didn't recognize, said...
"It is done." and, one by one, with a stunned Johe Jaxon watching them go, they stepped into a portal and vanished like hope when the coffin maker calls to measure the corpse.
The guyver gave an angry look to the empty bottle of ale, and threw it into the fire. The sound of shattering did little to satisfy the rage that rattled inside him wanting to burst forth like foam from a rabid dogs jaws. But nothing came. Not a whimper, not a twitch of an eye. He simply reached for another from the box and pulled on the cork until it "plooped". He remembered the look of fear on Ophelia's face as she wiped the crimson dread from her lips. She had seen her future in the eyes of the little hin as he resigned himself to undying hell for the sake of a moment of revenge. The guyver squinted into the fire pulling at the ale in the bottle with his lips. had they failed because the Sugarman guaranteed victory? If they had, it was of little solace to him, because it meant that there was no way to free Ophelia from her "deal". Which meant another failure loomed on the dark horizon.
He stood and shuffled to the bed, the ale having finally taken him to that dizzy place he had been searching for. That inebriated state where the truth slapped you full on in the face, but you were too numb to grasp the horror of it, and too dumb to care. He flopped onto the bed and winced at the sensation of his stomach twisting as the bed spun beneath him. He had failed Tagreth, and still, for whatever reason, Rivers, his daughter, and new leader of the Knives, wanted to "reward" him. He couldn't help but think that "reward" would be a dagger in the gut. For some strange reason, a part of him almost hoped it would be so. He shook his head with a frown as his stomach lurched sending acidic pain into his chest. It didn't matter...NOTHING mattered... there were only two jobs left, and the next one would probably be his end anyway, even if it wasn't, trying to save Ophelia from the Sugar man would certainly do the trick. But for now it was time to take Cora from the Shadow, and maybe it was the leftover hopelessness from when the Sugarman's envoy had twisted his soul, or maybe it was the ale, or maybe it was just plain true...
But he couldn't help but shake the feeling that his supply of guyver luck was down to it's final drops...
He rolled over and let the ale soaked gall spew from his lips onto the floor.
"leest it wern' red," he muttered as his head lolled back and he fell asleep. |
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The Hangover Dialogue
Posted: 23 Aug 2007 10:05 PM |
He bent his neck back over the porcelain groaning softly, trying to get some relief from the throbbing pain in his neck.
"Bluddy 'angovers," he murmured. It didn't look like there would be much guyvering done today. He found himself almost grudgingly thankful that the Shadow had cursed his store as he lay in the tub letting the warm water slowly soak away Doc McGillicutty's ale out of his system. A small frown tugged at his eyebrows. He needed to stop letting his emotions propel him through his missions if he expected to even have a chance at this next one. A hitched chuckle made waves move from the epicenter of his chest. Ironically the next mission on his "list" was the one that meant the most to him personally. Taking Cora back from the Shadow. He shook his head slowly. The only way he could get himself back into that dark place* and try to save her was to make her...and Him believe that he was ready to commit to the darkness, or at least that he was strongly contemplating it. A disgusted hiss escaped between his clenched teeth. Commit to the darkness?, he rolled his eyes under his closed eyelids. The shadows had always been a tool of his trade, nothing more. But it turned out that Jessup's words had been more true than he had originally suspected.
"Thiz Port and evrerywun in it belongz to Menarok, and alwayz haz. Even little guyverz work for the dark wun, he juzt letz them think different. Nothing you doez changez the truth."
He sighed with a frown. Shadow play had been a skill he had researched a long time ago to make his efforts more productive when chasing the "meenies" on the list. It had never meant anything more to him than pulling a blanket of shadow about him and doing what needed to be done under the cover of darkness. She had been the one that had actually entered into a relationship with the shadows, and now...now? Now it seemed that she belonged to them more than she belonged to herself, and... to him. Had he unwittingly sold his soul to a dark devil without even signing so much as a contract? An angry grunt rattled in his throat. No. This was unacceptable. He would let the Shadow THINK he was in the cat bird seat, but with the right combination of guyver trickery and sheer surprise he would get her back... one way or another.
He opened his black eyes as a feeling crossed over him. The soft red glow of a shadow servant's eyes peered at him from the corner of the bathroom. He sneered derisively as he closed his eyes again and relaxed deeper into the water.
"tell yer boss I've got tha answer 'e's bin waitin' on ," he said dismissively.
"Oh? and what would that be?" the voice sounded like it was coming to him through the hull of a ship that he was swimming under, but there was no mistaking the lilt in her voice, or the smirk of the lips that it passed through. He raised a surprised eyebrow and looked over at the shadowy form in the corner hoping to catch just a glimpse of her, but all he saw were those ruby red orbs glaring at him with silent malice.
"Cora?" he uttered, trying impossibly to mask the need in his voice.
"What answer are you talking about Johe?" she demanded. He could almost see her dark eyes flashing at him accusingly. His heart thumped in his chest as if it were banging on the door to his head commanding him to plead with her to end this, to come home to him, to see him with his restored face and body, to be with him like the old times...
He cleared his throat frowning at himself for a moment. No. There was only one way to get her out of there. He had to be stone. He HAD to get a grip on his emotions.
" If'n ya bin missin' me tha' much, ya outta stop by," he let a self satisfied smirk spread across his face like the lies told in the Port Royal men's bath about conquests never achieved. The bathroom fell silent except for the drip drip of the water from the faucet at his feet.
"Yeah, well... certain arrangements make that not such a good..." her voice trailed off into the surreal liquid from whence it came. He could sense a strange discomfort in her voice that intrigued him.
"Wuddid ya do now?" he said with a frown curling around his eyes. Trying to mask his concern for her becoming more an impossibility than a a labor of love.
"Nothing I can't handle.. thank you very much," she retorted curtly, " now what, might I ask, is this answer? hmmm?"
"I reckon ya'd need ta know tha question ta give a rip doncha luv?" he said through sneering lips that ached at their deception.
"What makes you think I wouldn't know the question?" she intoned bemusedly.
"I KNOW you don' luv," he slathered on a secretive grin," an' it's killin' you ain' it." The shadow slave glared at him in the long silence that followed.
"Fine, I'll find out sooner or later anyway," the annoyance in her voice sending small ripples through the water.
"yeah..." he sighed morosely, "I reckon you will."
"He's not the only one who can control the shadows..." she said hesitantly, sounding almost like a petulant girl. Her words surprised him,and gave him hope that he was hard pressed to keep hidden. Did this mean that he WASN'T dealing with Menarok? If it did, it also meant he might actually have a chance. He cleared his throat and looked at the ripples in the water as he collected himself quickly and sent his deceitful retort.
"I know... but I reckon 'e cuntrols you good enuff eh?" he couldn't help but close his eyes and smile slightly as he imagined the look on her face, those eyes becoming dagger slits of smouldering anger on her porcelain face. Yes it was true, sometimes he had goaded her into that state just because of how beautiful she looked when she was in "that" mood, not to mention the way those fights always...ended... The smile widened.
"No one controls me," came her predictable response sharply, "But you better watch your step, or he may well controll you." The guyver looked sidelong at the shadow slave and thought a moment. He knew what risks he was taking. Menarok or not, he was gambling his very soul for her. But whether she believed it or not, his feelings for her had left him with no choice years ago. He did his best to keep the quaking in his chest from shaking his voice.
"Sure 'bout that are ya?" the sadness in his eyes half mirrored in his voice," I seem ta amemba las' time we wus talkin' tha words ended rite quik wen wun uf 'is fella's showed up." He nodded curtly toward the shadow slave.
"Yeah," there was the faintest trace of tired hopelessness in her voice, "well... things change."
"Do tell luv," he cocked his head inquisitively.
She chuckled softly,"...what, and give away all my secrets?"
"Yeah that'd be no fun at all now wuldn' it?" a smile strained through the sudden, sad anger he felt roiling in his stomach," tha truth is only fer folks wut luv eech utha anyway ain' it."
"There you go again..." she said flatly,"spouting your love, crap."
"Well...up 'til now, it's bin wut's driven me decision makin'..." a look of mild surprise crossed his face as he spoke. Maybe it was his frustration with her not being able to understand the depth of his feelings, maybe it had been the guyver in him going for the prize, but he had sprung his attack without a thought. "I reckon it's time ta take tha road wut gits me where I wanna go."
"What? Love driving your decision making?" she chuckled depricatingly, " more like your lusts, don't you mean?"
He ignored the dagger and forged on,"Don' matta anymore eetha way I'd say, that outta make ya 'appy eh?" The silence that followed seemed heavy with thought, and, even if it was just wishful thinking by his heart, a faint tinge of regret. Whether to just hear her speak again, or to chase her down he went on. "Wutsa matta cyfi? no fun makin' fun uf me now?"
"Johe," her voice was concerned, "don't mess with the shadows." Her words struck a chord in him that he was hard pressed to mute, but he forged on. He HAD to get close enough to the Shadow to strike, and then, hopefully. strike a bargain for her, for them. He had to get the liar to believe HIS lie.
"An' why's tha'? you cul' awlways hide b'hin' bushes like we used ta back in tha day " he grinned with a forced glint of evil glee twinkling in an eye a tad more moist than it should be.
""It's more than you can handle," her voice seemed distant, pensive, cold, "Concider this fair warning"
" I didn' know ya caed cyfi..." the sarcasm in his voice masking the pain,"thanks."
"I mean it Johe... you have no idea who you are dealing with." she persued.
"Well 'e stole you from devastatin'ly 'ansom me," he smiled sadly,"so yeah! I reckon 'e's got tha werl by tha balls eh?"
""I told you, I can take care of myself. ...Don't go and do anything... stupid... cause you think you're in love with me." she countered, sounding more like the Cora he had asked to marry him than she had for months. He cleared his throat to mask the pain of her words digging into his chest. He got out of the tub with a grunt and began his usual search for a halfway clean towel. What had brought them here despite their destination? What would it take to get her back? Would even taking the Shadow out of the equation be enough?
"Goodbye Johe," she said quickly with a vibration in her voice that made her sound like a child with her hand in the cookie jar. He squinted at this, then looked over to see the shadow servant dissipate into shadowy nothingness.
He sighed pulling a towel that smelled least like mildew over his face.
"G'bye."
He shook his head as he dried himself, and padded toward the bedroom. He had a funeral to go to. He owed it to Tagreth. When he returned, hopefully the Shadow would be ready to talk, and, if there was any guyver luck left in his arsenal, the next funeral he went to wouldn't be his.
* Page 4 of this thread Blind Fighting I, II, and III
(( This conversaton leads to Shadow Reflection In the Cora-veil of Shadows thread. Enjoy )) |
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